Gifts of the Maker
by mandrakefunnyjuice
Summary: Once upon an alternate timeline, Bethany Hawke the Apostate never made it to Kirkwall with the rest of her family; instead, she was caught in Lothering at a young age by the templars and was sent to the Tower in Ferelden, becoming Bethany Amell the Circle Mage.
1. Winning Friends & Influencing People

A/N: Originally posted on AO3. I should not be allowed to post stories when I have too many I'm already working on that haven't been updated . . . shame, shame on MFJ.

* * *

Bethany Hawke had always made a habit of picking plants wherever she went. She wasn't sure where she picked up this habit, but she blamed it on her father Malcolm. He knew how to make any potion humanly possible. And elvenly possible and dwarvenly possible too, she was sure. He had made a prudent point of taking plant samples wherever they went and wherever they traveled. He taught her what plants were dangerous to eat and what ones weren't, and what ones were just for looking at. She knew all the possible environments and places where elfroot could grow in any given area and had a knack for always knowing where to find it; a valuable skill to have with the kind of life that she and her family lived.

She wasn't a master herbalist like her father, though. Malcolm Hawke had tried to teach her how to make simple poultices and potions several times with varying amounts of success, but it never quite stuck. More often than not her attempts exploded in her face, like that one time – well, her older brother would be able to tell you the story better. She was unconscious for most of it. Bethany didn't really like collecting herbs like her father, though, she just liked collecting flowers; everywhere she went, her father went around finding ingredients and she went flower-picking. This wasn't her father's fault, but her mother's. Leandra Hawke _loved_ flowers, especially daffodils and lilies. Her absolute favorite was jasmine, but that never seemed to grow in the places they went these days. Mother always liked the color yellow; said it was pleasant reminder for her, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the ponderous overcast skies. As for Bethany's favorites, she wasn't a fan of the big showy flowers and was rather partial to Dame's Rockets, catchflies, and snapdragons. Although she did secretly adore orchids. And roses were rather nice, too.

Even if the plants Bethany picked never really had any practical or medical purpose, it was just pure habit by this point. She never even kept the half of them. Sometimes she would press them into books she was reading and use them as bookmarks. Most of the time she would just forget that they were in her books and discover them, dried out and wretched several years later and wonder what in the world she'd been thinking back then. She did it anyway, though, and though she could never pinpoint why she continued to do it, the hobby passed the time while her family was on the road.

You see, Bethany Hawke was an apostate. So was her father. Her mother, elder brother, and twin brother were not and she wasn't certain that they hadn't gotten the better part of the bargain. Her father always insisted that Bethany's talent for magic was a wonderful gift, but so far she hadn't seen her magic do anything but inspire fear and bring her family copious amounts of misery. Because of her and her father's magic, they'd never been able to live by their means. Or out in the open. Or in the general vicinity of anything remotely resembling intelligent life, really. Ferelden may have been a free country but it treated apostates just like everyone else (except for Tevinter, maybe, but Bethany certainly didn't want to go to a place where something like _slavery_ was not only legal but _encouraged!_). Her father said that magic was a gift of the Maker, though, and the only reason that they'd have to hide is because of man. It was mankind's fault, that they treated and squandered one of the greatest natural forces in the world – magic – the way they did, and didn't give it the proper respect; they confined it to Circles where it would stagnate instead of letting it flourish in the world like it was meant to.

Mages were hardly considered human; Bethany knew how it felt to be looked down upon as something less than human, to be fixed with a look that should be reserved for vermin and insects. She'd seen the looks on people's faces when they discovered what she was. It wasn't something she'd wish on anyone. It almost made her wish she hadn't been born this way, but she didn't; she believed her father when he taught her that it wasn't her fault, it was mankind's fault. Because no one, Malcolm always said, was born to suffer and die, and no one was meant to be punished simply because of what they were. Not every mage was a blood mage, but mankind didn't like making that distinction, he said; mages weren't meant to be this way, he said. We're supposed to be free. She'd often asked him when she was younger why they weren't. He never really had an answer, he just got this very sad and lost look on his face and told her that it was baby steps. One step at a time. Or, a foot in the door. It would take time, to make it all better, but one day, it **would** be better – that was a promise.

Bethany wished she believed that, but it's very hard to. She'd been taught by her father that the Maker wasn't what the Chantry had said (because no benevolent deity would abandon their children so) but the Chantry had said that because of mankind's folly when they persecuted his Bride, he'd deemed everyone unworthy. And from the looks of things, she wasn't sure that they were wrong. Bethany had seen some things that didn't look like they'd been designed by a benevolent deity like the one her father described, including blood magic and abominations. She'd never seen them in person, of course, but knew they were possible. She didn't like to dwell on it too much. Dwelling just brought room for doubt. Still, food for thought on the long roads: Bethany reasoned that maybe no one was right about the Maker since no one could seem to agree on what he was, and she was more or less willing to accept this. It didn't affect her much one way or the other.

Ho-hum.

She and her family (and their dog) were walking along the Imperial Highway. Two days ago they'd been attacked by bandits who didn't know what they were messing with: a powerful apostate, his irritated and travel-worn wife and their three children aged fifteen to eighteen – one of whom could cast a very mean fireball (she liked fire spells) and the other two who'd been playing with swords since they were old enough to handle one. Not to mention one very defensive mabari warhound named Chomper. Bethany almost felt bad for the bandits. Almost. Currently, her mother and father were discussing things in hushed tones. She didn't have to eavesdrop to know that they were talking about her. Whenever they got hushed, they were always talking about _magic _and _evil templars_ and _the Circle_ and _apostates_ and such. She didn't like listening in on those conversations anyway. They never ended well.

She was walking next to her twin brother Carver, and they shared one of those **looks**, the ones that only twins share. They could sometimes read each other's minds. It wasn't magic, it was just instinct. Parents, Carver was scoffing silently as he rolled his eyes at her. What a joke. Bethany rolls her eyes and silently admonishes him. You shouldn't talk about them that way. You shouldn't be so quick to defend them, he tells her with his eyes. Bethany rolls her eyes again. I'm not, she says, but I just… Bethany frowns. I don't like it when they argue, Carver. Neither do I, he silently agrees.

Their imaginary conversation comes to an abrupt end when their older brother Sean, who is walking silently in front of them mutters back to them, "I can hear you two thinking all the way from up here, you know."

"Oh?" Bethany smiles. "Are you a mind-reader, brother?"

"Hardly. I just _know_ the only way an older brother knows, you know?"

"Um, no?"

Sean grins. "Exactly."

Carver scratches his head. "You never make sense, Sean."

Her older brother sighs and likewise scratches his head. "Yeah. I know. None of you lot appreciate my genius."

They walk in silence for some great distance and Mother and Father eventually stop their whispering-argument. Bethany is glad. She hates it when they argue. She thinks Carver can sense her relief. Her mood definitely perks up when she spots a bit of Columbine along the road and snatches them. Sean rolls his eyes at her habit like he always does, and her parents merely smile. She reaches down and pets Sean's mabari, who pants in delight.

* * *

Before long they were in a new place. It was different from the old place. They never stayed in one place very long.

"This place is different," father informs. "Lothering's quiet. Chantry isn't as observant. Not as many templars. We should be able to stay here for a long time."

"I hope so," Sean says darkly.

Carver shrugs. "Well, it can't be any worse than Gwaren, can it?"

Bethany remembers Gwaren. She had liked it there, but her brothers hadn't. The Chantry there was a place of peace as well as dread for Bethany; sometimes, when she had been left to her own devices, she would go down to the Chantry in Gwaren and talk to the lay sisters. They never suspected anything, but her father had been furious. She never understood why he was so angry, since he was the one who taught her to hide her abilities as a mage and he was a very good teacher. The best place to hide is in plain sight, he sometimes said, but don't ever go out of your way to be obvious. She eventually reasoned that it was just something that parents do, they worry unnecessarily, even when you have things under control and you know what you're doing. Malcolm had told his daughter that even if she _thought_ she knew what she was doing, she _wasn't_, because she was a _teenager_, and that meant she couldn't do anything without supervision. That had just made her mad. Bethany frowned and pouted and eventually her father relented. Be careful, was all he said. It was all the advice she needed. I'm always careful, she told him. You shouldn't worry so much. We're going to be fine.

Bethany wasn't sure why father thought Lothering was different. He had always made a point of mentioning that they couldn't ever stay in one place very long, but even with the lax Chantry influence in Lothering, it couldn't be _that _different… could it? It certainly didn't look that different.

Either way, as soon as she they arrived, Bethany went about the Ritual almost immediately. She had a very good memory, good for memorizing people and names and faces, even if it came at the cost of being directionally challenged. (Carver always teased her about the one time they had let Bethany carry the map and they'd ended up criminally lost in the Bannorn. They were trying to get to Highever and somehow ended up in Rainesfere, which was about the exact opposite of where they wanted to be. Mother just couldn't stop laughing. Bethany'd been so humiliated and had blamed it on the map, of course. _I mean, who wrote it? What sadistic cartographer made it so hard to read? It should've been simpler!_) Regardless, as soon as they arrived in Lothering, Bethany, Carver, Sean, and Chomper went to the Chantry.

It seemed like the opposite of what they were meant to do; Bethany always felt a bit uncomfortable within any distance of any Chantry, regardless of how nice the people were that worked there or whatever. It comes with being an apostate; the Chantry teaches that apostates, i.e. mages that live outside of the Circle of Magi, are to be punished for their crime of not living in the Circle and should be avoided at all costs because they are evil, evil, evil. Er, well, more or less. It wasn't really that bad, Bethany was sure, but that was just the impression she sometimes got. More importantly, though, the Chantry was home to the _templars._

The templars were everything that Bethany feared. She couldn't help it. Even their strange helmets were unsettling. Their combination of robes and armor weren't just enough; they had to possess the ability to strip any mage in sight of all mana in the blink of an eye. And she'd also heard very frightening stories (she didn't really believe they were true but she had nightmares nonetheless) about the horrifying ways they treated apostates when they found them and the terrible things they did to blood mages. She was no blood mage, but she was absolutely terrified of the templars. Their abilities to strip mana just weren't enough, she thought darkly. Bethany didn't know how they did it, and father had tried to explain it once but had failed; all she knew was that the templars could almost literally smell magic from a mile away and that was bad. But Bethany knew how to be careful, and Carver knew how to brawl, and Sean knew how to lie them all out of just about anything they couldn't avoid or punch their way out of. She felt as safe as she could be when setting foot into the Lothering Chantry for the first time.

It was smaller than she'd thought. It smelled of incense. And it was full of templars.

But, not as many as she'd thought there would be. Most of them had helmets on, but the ones that didn't she quickly scanned and committed faces to memory. In the event of running into them when they weren't in their armor, she had to be prepared. It was the tradition in the family, wherever they went, that someone would take Bethany down to the Chantry so she could get a good look at the templars.

Bethany took a deep breath and looked up to her older brother. He looked down at her and nodded, nudging her. You can do this, he said silently. She looked to Carver. He just smirked and said silently, good luck. Jerk, she thought back at him and reached for his hand. He gripped it tightly and they tried their best to look as inconspicuous as a young apostate and her brothers and their dog could be.

The three of them went about the Chantry for a good hour before Bethany had had enough. She pretended to pray, they milled about, speaking to the sisters or explaining that they were new in town and didn't know a soul (no one was surprised to see strangers as Lothering was a hub of travelers, despite its small size) and one of her brothers made sure to stay at her side at all times, just in case. Be prepared for every eventuality, Malcolm Hawke had taught them. He taught them well.

Bethany had got the chance to speak to the grand cleric. She couldn't remember the grand cleric's name. She and Carver afterward shared a brief joke about how Bethany should've been struck by lightning just by entering the grand cleric's office alone. Bethany also met a few of the lay sisters. One of them, a faintly Orlesian woman, was very friendly and told her all about Lothering. She apparently was new to Lothering as well. For some reason or another, she made Sean very nervous_._ Carver liked her well enough. Bethany had asked subtly just how many templars they had here in Lothering. The red-haired Orlesian woman laughed and said 'plenty.'

Overall Bethany gathered the names of only four templars that she had seen in the Chantry without their helmets and knew the faces of five others. One of them was the Knight-Commander of that branch of the Chantry, even – Ser Bryant, he was. And there was one named Ser Maron, and one named Ser Reginald, and another named Ser Kiernan.

All in all, it had been a productive day. Their father had been pleased. Bethany promised that she'd go back tomorrow and learn more. You have to know _exactly_ who and what to avoid in order to get any good at avoiding, her mother said. Bethany agreed wholeheartedly. Know your target better than they know you.

Their parents had acquired lodging for the next few nights at the tavern slash Inn, called Dane's Refuge. It never ceased to amaze Bethany how little people noticed her family when they were passing through. To her, it had always seemed as if the words "I AM AN APOSTATE" may as well be tattooed on her forehead. To her, it was obvious. It was always fascinating at how little people paid attention or even cared about the Hawkes, especially Bethany and her father, and when she thought about it more it was kind of frightening that everyone didn't notice she and her father were mages. Not that she wanted them to notice by any means, oh no, no, no, but still.

"What do you think the people here would do if they found out I'm an apostate?" She whispered to Carver as they began trudging to their rooms at the Dane's Refuge. Chomper growled at her question, although he might have just been growling at a nearby cat he saw. Bethany could never be sure with the dog.

Carver just snorted. "What do you think?"

Bethany pouted. "You're so surly, you know that?"

"No, I'm tired."

Sean snickered from behind them. He reached down and patted Chomper out of habit and the dog looked up at his master in undisguised delight. "They'd probably crucify you and father if they knew."

Bethany nodded and smiled. "Probably. Guess I shouldn't go around chucking fireballs?"

"That would be a no."

She sighed. "It's strange, to think people would turn on us… just for what we are."

"And unfair," Carver added darkly.

"Yes," she agreed, "and unfair. I know they're only afraid, but if only they knew that…"

"That what?"

Sean picked up her train of thought: "that's there's nothing to be afraid of? Bethany wouldn't hurt a fly. Mosquitoes, yes, but flies, no."

Bethany grimaced. "Mosquitoes are awful."

"She'll certainly incinerate those little bastards, but not flies or pretty flowers or bunnies or kittens. Our little sister is a good apostate!" Sean grinned and made to pat Bethany on the head but she swatted his hand away.

Her face scrunched up in thought. "I'm not sure the templars believe in good apostates."

"They're scared of her because they don't know better," Carver snapped. "They should, but they don't. They're all closed-minded bastards." Sean opened his mouth to argue but apparently thought better of it and just shook his head.

Bethany frowned, deep in thought. "Well, no point in dwelling on it." She shrugged and headed towards their given room. She was still in deep thought by the time they began unpacking.

"Hey, Bethany," Sean said suddenly, startling her out of her reverie. She looked up at him curiously. "Just a question, nothing serious but… have you ever thought about blood magic?"

She blinked, startled even more at the question. Carver was staring at their older brother like he'd grown a second head. "Er, I suppose so. I mean, I have thought about it."

"Bethany!" Carver cried out.

"I'm not saying I ever considered _learning_ it," she corrected quickly, "but I've thought about it. Thinking about something is a far cry from giving into it."

Sean nodded in understanding. "I've just… always wondered what drove mages to it."

"Father says blood magic can control people, distort their minds, make them do terrible things. I certainly wouldn't ever want that. I have enough problems with my magic as it is right now, I don't need more power. Wouldn't it just make me a bigger target?"

"I don't know, a little extra kick would be something," Sean smirked, "but we wouldn't want you to suddenly morph into a monster and have to be put down by the templars."

"Definitely not," she emphatically agreed and went back to unpacking, the conversation apparently over and Sean's curiosity satisfied. Her brothers were strange, she mused contentedly.

The idea was that Bethany's family would stay at the Dane's Refuge for as long as necessary until Leandra and Malcolm managed to find a more permanent residence. The very next day when Bethany and Sean went to the Chantry to go about templar-memorizing again, Carver and her parents would go house-hunting.

Four new names with faces were added to Bethany's mental list: Ricard, Simon, Lambert, and Antoine. The friendly Orlesian lay sister they'd encountered the day before was named Leliana, and she had been quite helpful. There were two other sisters Bethany found out the names of – Ardalace and Yvette. She also knew the name of the Chanter that stood outside the Chantry doors most days, next to the Chantry Board – Chanter Devons. Bethany was reasonably certain that they weren't very many people left in the Lothering Chantry (it was a very small town, remember) that she didn't either recognize or know the name of. It was a relief for her, to put a name and face to her fears. She always felt less like there was a sign above her head that read "PLEASE TURN IN THIS APOSTATE TO THE NEAREST CIRCLE" when she knew what was going on around her. Even Sean was picking up a bit on her confidence, which was definitely reassuring. Her brother may only have been eighteen but he was by far the best swordsman _she'd_ ever seen (even better than Carver, although she'd never say so to Carver's face – he'd never forgive her for it) and so it was very comforting to have Sean Hawke at her back.

"Well, brother," she said, looking back up at him. "I think we're done here for the day."

"Good job," he grinned. "Took you long enough though. I won't be sorry to see the back end of this place – you know how nervous Chantries make me." She rolled her eyes.

The two went the long way through town and looked at some of the shops. Lothering had few. Window-shopping only, of course, but it was good to get a feel for the town. It was a peaceful sort of place. It wasn't pretty by any means, but according to Sister Leliana it was a place of contemplation, the kind of place where you could stop and take a breath for as long as you like. It was a place of _rest_.

_Rest._

That was really the only word Bethany needed to hear. She was only fifteen but she was so very, very tired of running. She'd been running her whole life from the Chantry and its villainous templars. She didn't hate them for chasing her – she understood that to their perspective, she was just as evil as she thought they were. It wasn't a comforting thought. Sometimes she wished she could just be like Carver and have everything be black and white and simple. She didn't want to understand her enemies, she just wanted them gone, or to be gone from them. She couldn't out run them forever, either.

She sighed. "What?" Sean asked, concernedly.

"Oh," she sighed again. "Nothing. Hope mum and dad were right about this place. I'd like to stay here. It's not bad. A little gloomy maybe, but peaceful."

"Tch, better than _Gwaren_."

"I didn't think it was _that _bad."

"It was too."

"No it wasn't," she countered impetuously, "it wasn't bad at all. It would've been almost fine, if not for that one incident, and if not you and Carver hadn't—"

Sean cut her off quickly, "yeahletsnotgetintothat. Let's just, er, get back to the Inn. And you're right. Gwaren was just _fantastic. _ Full of… nice, great people, and fortunately stupid templars."

Bethany laughed at this. "True, what with the flaming barrels."

Sean laughed too. "Yes, how could I forget—I was there, remember? Right in front of Ser whatshisname. Rochefort or whatever."

"Don't think I've _ever_ been so scared in my life," she admitted.

"Me neither," Sean said quite seriously. "I nearly had a heart attack and father was practically apoplectic – not to mention Carver's reaction."

"Don't remind me," she murmured darkly.

"But seriously enough," Sean continued, "Mum's a genius. Can't believe she managed to talk us out of that – although I suppose it wasn't hard after the explosion. Explosions can be pretty distracting."

"Ugh, Dad wouldn't let me out of the house for weeks. I was _miserable_. And with _Carver_. He wouldn't stop teasing me about it for months after, even. You weren't there for that, so don't say I'm exaggerating – it was just awful. Worse than when he nailed my pigtails to the bed!"

"I bet. Wait, you remember the pigtails?" Sean blinked. "That was … when you were six, wasn't it?"

"I remember everything," she said breezily. As they were heading back to the Inn a thought struck Bethany. "Hey, why did you ask me about blood magic yesterday anyway?"

Sean shrugged and kicked at the stone of the bridge beneath them as they crossed over the creek that led back to the tavern slash Inn. "I said I was just curious. Father's gone off about it often enough, about how anyone who does it has no excuse, that it's the 'point of no return' and whatnot, because it's evil or wrong, blah, blah, ranting, blah. The thing is, though, I've never seen it so I wouldn't be able to say for myself whether or not it's evil."

"You… don't think blood magic is evil?" Bethany said quietly, darting suspicious glances around to make sure no one was listening.

Sean frowned at this. "No, I suppose not. It's not like blood magic _itself _controls you, is it? It's all in the mage. I think some people are evil, blood mages or no. Then again... well, I just think you need to see something in action or practice yourself in order to really judge it. Father probably has probably seen plenty to know what he's talking about, but I certainly haven't. I was just curious as to your opinion. You've never talked about it, really."

Bethany looked down at the ground. "For me, it's not even a matter of whether or not it's evil. I mean, it probably, definitely is, but that's not what matters. People hate it anyway. It'll always be a stigma."

Sean caught up on her line of thought again – he was good at that, he and Carver both. "Everybody _does_ hate maleficarum, this is true. Well, not everyone, I'm sure, but the vast majority of people seem to. I suppose 'good' and 'evil' wouldn't matter much, even if you were using blood magic for the right reasons – people will react the same way, by running away in terror and, if they're templars, with stabbity death."

"And cackling while they do the stabbing," Bethany had to add.

"Yes, cackling, don't forget the cackling."

Bethany sighed again. "I'm not sure there _are_ right reasons for using blood magic, brother."

"Oh," he sighed, staring up at the blue sky, "I don't know. I could see it. Protecting a loved one, that would be a good reason."

Bethany thought about this. "I suppose if we were attacked by bandits or something and you all somehow managed to become incapacitated… and they attacked Mother… I would do it. I would… use blood magic. But not because I'd want to."

"Oh, definitely not. But if you had no choice? If they forced your hand?"

"Well, maybe. I don't know. I don't know anything about it, I mean, um, blood magic, except that it comes from demons. Only place you can learn it, I think. I-I-I'd have to, um, make a _deal _with . . . And anyway, we should probably stop talking about this," she dropped to a whisper, "'cause people will overhear us in the Inn. Which will lead to _Ser Lambert_ knocking at the door."

Sean rolled his eyes and opened the door to the Dane's Refuge for the both of them. "Pfft. Lambert… what a dumb name. Do you think his parents hated him?"

"I don't think they would've named him Lambert and given him to the Chantry if they didn't hate him," Bethany told him, dripping with sarcasm, but smiling nonetheless. Sean smirked briefly and the two left to see if Carver or their parents had gotten back yet.

* * *

Malcolm and Leandra managed to find a house. It took some searching but it was there. Cost them nearly all the money they'd managed to save, but Bethany was beyond ecstatic. A _house!_ A real one! They'd get to live _normally_. Well, if Father was right and if they could stay under the radar. They'd have to live far beneath their means but Bethany didn't care much. She could go and do normal things, like maybe wear dresses and cook and clean and find daffodils to pick for Mother.

Mother was happy. Bethany was surprised at how happy her mother was, all things considering. Her mother had been a noble by the name of Amell before she'd run away from Kirkwall with her father. Bethany had always wondered what it would have been like, in Kirkwall, or in a noble's household. Mother sometimes told her stories about her youth, but she always cut them short and ended up with a very sad look on her face. As fascinated as Bethany was by her mother's side of the family, she didn't want to bring up bad blood or memories (as seemed to be the case with her mother) and let it rest. She focused on being content with their new home. It didn't stop her from daydreaming, though, about what would have happened to the little girl she could've been in Kirkwall, in silk dresses in bright colors and satin gowns, hundreds of ribbons and… decent meals every day… then again, she still would be a mage, she reasoned bitterly, so she would've just ended up in the Circle. She knew enough about the Circle from her father to know that it wasn't a place that she wanted to be.

And yet…

Sometimes, but never aloud, and only to herself during quiet nights… she'd wonder.

Wonder if it would be so terrible to be surrounded by other mages, her peers, to sit around and hone her gift all day. Sometimes she'd think it wouldn't be bad at all, maybe it would be okay to do as Andraste commanded, and that maybe father was exaggerating… but then she remembered that all of the Circle's activities would be done under the watchful gaze of the templars, who sat around waiting to strike at the exact moment a mage looked even remotely rebellious. She wouldn't be able to live like that. But then again, if she'd always been living in a Tower full of mages and their guardian monkey-helmeted templars, she probably wouldn't even know different. It wouldn't be so terrible.

But she wasn't a Circle mage, she was an apostate, and she wasn't sorry about her state for one second. Those little renegade thoughts about how her mother had given up so much for her father, and her brothers had given up so much for Bethany, and how the family as a whole had suffered because of her and her father's gifts… they weren't very common thoughts. Still, they were there, and they tended to crop up the more time they spent in Lothering.

Well. At least Chomper was happy. He liked to run around the outskirts of Lothering in the farm fields and bring back random rodents he'd killed for the family. Sean thought it was adorable, but Bethany thought it was kind of gross. Still, at least the mabari was happy enough, and there were plenty of bones to chew on and bury in the ground.

Carver got antsy after a month. It was normal for him to get antsy. Bethany was usually able to balance him out but he kept getting nervous about the templars and all but hissed at the merest mention of magic around the dinner table. Eventually, he and Sean had it out and by the end of it, Carver was irritated but subdued and Sean was just plain irritated. Brothers, Bethany thought sulkily. Were they like this all over Thedas?

The Hawkes had never stayed in one place for too long. Six months was the longest Bethany ever remembered being in one place. One didn't make friends or ties because that just made the leaving harder. But Malcolm insisted that they were going to stay in Lothering and make it a home. It was worth it to at least try.

Bethany wasn't sure _how_ to try. The lack of permanency in their lives made all three of the siblings unsure of how to continue. The town had acclimatized to them a bit, even. It was the strangest thing to see someone recognize them outdoors. Especially in the Chantry. Or at the Inn. People would wave and smile in familiarity, not contempt or fear. Bethany was just unsure of how to even go about making acquaintances, so she did the only thing she could do – she asked her mother for advice, and then went to the Chantry for more advice. The Chantry may have been the bane of her existence as an apostate, but they weren't _all_ bad. Just the templar part of them was bad. She found that she rather liked Sisters Leliana and Ardalace and discovered that really, none of the sisters in the Chantry had _always_ been sisters and were a bit more worldly than they let on. Leliana didn't say much about her life but she dropped some hints that Bethany eagerly caught on to.

Gradually, as the months went on, she started to get to know their neighbors. One of them had a daughter her age. It was all Bethany could do not to shout from the rooftops, "I AM A MAGE AND MAKING FRIENDS, HEAR ME ROAR," but at least Carver got a laugh out of it when she told him. Although the neighbor's girl was a lot more, er, moody than Bethany was. It was a bit strange. She was a bit strange. Her name was Melissa, and she had short blond hair and the darkest eyes Bethany had ever seen. Melissa was always angry at something and reminded Bethany more than a little of Carver, which made her laugh. Carver was always mad at something. It's what made Carver Carver, and what made Melissa Melissa.

Her brothers took a bit longer than Bethany did to acclimatize, so to speak. To her knowledge, Sean hadn't set one foot in the Chantry since he had helped her go about her templar-memorizing those months ago. She thought it a bit funny that her elder brother, the backbone of steel, the best fighter she knew, had this strange, unconditional fear of the Chantry. She had more reason than he to be afraid of it and yet he avoided it like the plague, whereas she made a bit of a point to at least go there once a week, if not to check for any new templars than to chat with the sisters.

At least Leandra Hawke approved of it. Her father didn't have to like it, Bethany making rounds to the Chantry, but he trusted her enough not to accidentally give away their secret. Mother gave her all sorts of pointers on how to go about being friendly and meet new people. Strange, how those things were so foreign…

Mother was happier than Bethany had ever seen her. Happier than Chomper, even. She'd fit in with the people of Lothering quite nicely. Lothering wasn't a pretty town but it had its charms, and more importantly it was _home._ It was a small town and everyone knew each other and greeted each other in the streets. Bethany couldn't help but smile when mother went off to chat with some local lady during her day-to-day.

Livelihood was the biggest problem in Lothering. Luckily, father took care of most of it – his vast knowledge of herbalism and alchemy was finally useful for more than attempting to teach Bethany the rudiments of making a salve (it never worked out and Bethany had stopped trying a year ago). The people of Lothering were grateful to have someone of his skills around and didn't question much. Bethany was amazed when it turned out how right father was, about this incurious little town.

The Hawkes seemed to fit in just about perfectly. Sean even eventually got a job and found his niche as the apprentice of a local blacksmith. It never seemed to really interest him much but he joked that it at least kept him in shape. Bethany studied magic with her father at night in private and helped mother during the days and in public. Carver foundered, and his sister worried, much to his annoyance. Carver always had a difficulty fitting in. He always blamed it on Sean and being stuck in his big brother's fat shadow, but Carver never really went out of his way to get out of that shadow. Bethany knew him better than anyone else, though, and knew it didn't mean much. She was his twin, after all. If she didn't know when to take him seriously and when to not than she wouldn't be a very good twin sister, would she? Carver was never really happy with their place in Lothering but she knew that at heart he was grateful to finally have a place to sit down and rest for a while. To finally have a place they could really call _home_. He was restless, but not too restless. Neither upset nor content.

Everything was peaceful. Everything was fine. Everything was quiet for the first time in Bethany's life. Lothering wasn't anywhere near perfect but it was home, and that was all that mattered. The longer they stayed, the more attached she got. They didn't live in the main town even, just on the outskirts, but they were still a part of the community, a part of the whole and _belonged_ – and that sense of belonging had been something Bethany had wanted and dreamt of her whole life. It shouldn't have been possible because of her and her father's apostate status, but that didn't matter. They were finally in a place that was called home. That was all that mattered.

It wasn't fair or right that it could have been taken away so fast. It was a page straight out of one of her many nightmares.

* * *

Her family didn't like leaving Bethany alone. Someone was always there, whether it was Sean or Carver or her father or Chomper or her mother. She was always guarded. It had been this way even before the minor incident in Gwaren – not just because she was the apostate, but because she was the darling little girl. She didn't like it, really, but she didn't have reason to complain. At least she was never lonely and always around family, always around those she loved and those that loved her in turn. Still, it was a bit irritating.

She was with Chomper, walking through the outskirts of Lothering and towards the Imperial Road. She never went too far, usually sticking to the woods outside of town and idly, pensively strolling along. It was a bright and sunny day, the sky was a radiant azure with virtually no clouds at all. It was the end of summer and the roses were just beginning to bloom. She'd been by the Chantry earlier to see them. Wild roses weren't as pretty but she liked them all the same.

Bethany's fondness for 'weed-picking,' as Carver called it, had led her to memorize virtually every type of wildflower or plant that grew near Lothering. She didn't like many of the flowers around, though. The outskirts were covered with yarrow and lavender. The smell was wonderful but they weren't her favorites. She looked around for anything yellow besides golden yarrow to bring back to mother but was disappointed to find nothing nearby. Oh well.

"Hey, Chomper," she murmured, scratching the mabari's ears. The dog perked up. She liked Chomper. She was pretty sure that Chomper liked her, even if she wasn't his master and he was only with her because Sean ordered him to (the mabari had only imprinted on Sean). "See anything fun to do?"

The dog huffed in boredom. "I know the feeling," Bethany sympathized.

It was sad, but Bethany was bored. Mother was off chatting with one of her friends, Carver was doing… something with Barlin, she didn't know, and her father and Sean were working. Bethany w0uld never admit it to anyone but sometimes she felt like a third wheel. Her family had spent all of her life protecting her secret and she didn't know any way to make it easier except by hiding her magic as best she could. Sometimes she was jealous of other people, leading simpler lives without the secret of magic hanging over their heads like a suspended… anvil or something. And there was always the chance that at any second that anvil could come crashing down and her secret would be out and everything would be ruined. Again.

But there was no other option. It was this or the noose. Or the Circle. Or Tranquility, which was the worst possible thing that could happen. She'd rather get beaten at the hands of the templars and live in misery than become Tranquil. Her most frequently occurring nightmare was being made tranquil. To be unable to feel, or dream, or…

She shuddered and scratched Chomper some more. He panted happily.

"Lucky dog," she sighed idly. "You don't have to worry about mean men in skirts and armor knocking at _your_ door. You just bite people on the rump."

Chomper looked up at her, head cocked and gave a sad little whine. "No, I'm fine, Chomper," she assured the dog, who looked vaguely relieved (or constipated… she wasn't well-versed in doggy facial expressions). "Just bored."

It wasn't long before something came along and relieved that boredom.

There she was, passing the time, second by second, lost in thought, when everything came to an abrupt halt – a piercing scream ripped through the air, high pitched and panicked. Bethany tensed, standing ramrod straight. Chomper growled and started barking.

A few seconds, and then another scream. Chomper howled. "That sounds like a child!" Bethany cried and Chomper tugged at her skirt. "Quick, find it, boy."

Chomper charged off with Bethany in tow. She tripped over rows of plants and irregular ground following the warhound father and farther away from Lothering and towards the woods. Another scream shot through the air, this one louder than the other two but shorter, and Bethany began to panic. She took a page out of her brothers' books and started cursing under her breath.

It was over a small hill and right on the edge of the woods where she found it – a small boy, facing down two very hungry and rabid looking wolves. Bethany didn't take the time to question the scene (what was this child doing out here?! And _wolves?!_) – she didn't think at all. It was a knee-jerk reaction. She stretched her hand forth and out came an explosion of fire, incinerating the two animals threatening the child. Chomper howled and darted forth into the woods, chasing something only he could see – another wild animal, no doubt.

Bethany, unthinking, ran down the green knoll towards the small boy and placed herself in front of him, scanning the area for any more threats, instinctually winding up a bit of mana in case she needed another spell.

The wolves were scorched and very, very dead. Seeing no other threats, no sudden movements out of the corner of her eye, she turned to the boy….

And then cursed her head off. Or rather she would've if she hadn't been overcome with ice-cold terror.

"I-I-I-" she stammered at the small child's wide-eyed stare. "I…" All the excuses she could think of died on her tongue. "No…"

"The-the-that was…" the boy was just as confused as she was. Bethany felt her blood run cold. She had used magic. _Magic._ In front of a little boy.

Instead of reacting like she expected the little boy to, though, he gasped in delight. "That was _awesome_!"

"Wh-what?"

"Was that magic?" He jumped up and down, blue eyes shining in admiration, red hair bouncing. She stared at the boy, scared out of her wits.

"N-no, no it wasn't," she rushed. "It wasn't magic, it was a combustion grenade. A combustion grenade!"

"A what? A comby-what? I've never seen magic before! Do it again!"

"No," she snapped and grabbed the child's hand, bringing him in close, shaking him and panicking out of her wits. "Listen, you shouldn't be out here, your parents could be so worried!"

But he wouldn't drop the subject – "WOW! REAL MAGIC!" He cried.

"Shhhhh!" She urged. "No, it wasn't magic! You're seeing things!" _Oh Maker, I'm doomed, I've doomed us all…_

"I heard mages were really scary," the boy whispered confidentially, "but you saved me! And you're not scary at all! You're really pretty. You don't even have horns. Real magic! Wow!"

"It wasn't magic!" She hissed. _Horns? Who told him mages have horns? Oh no, oh Maker… _"Listen, you shouldn't tell anyone you saw that. Ever, ever, ever. It _wasn't_ magic. Yes, I killed them, but it was… uh…" She tried to remember what she'd said earlier. "It was a combustion… thing. Grenade. It wasn't…a fireball. It wasn't at all." Bethany felt a tug on her sleeve and noted Chomper at her side, whining plaintively. His muzzle was bloody, but he was unharmed. Chomper looked at the wide-eyed child they'd rescued and whimpered.

_This little boy could destroy everything,_ Bethany thought darkly, not relishing the thought at all. _He needs to understand…_

The little boy frowned. "So it wasn't magic?"

She sighed in relief, even though she wasn't very relieved at all. "No. It wasn't. You shouldn't tell _anyone_ that it was magic, or… or we'll all be in very big trouble. Do you understand?" Chomper whined and whimpered pathetically for emphasis.

"Well… okay, miss mage, it wasn't magic."

Bethany slapped her forehead in despair and grabbed the little redheaded boy's clammy little hand. "What's your name? Where do you live?" She asked, hoping that he would forget all about this – hoping and praying, because things could go very badly if he didn't.

"Me? Me—I'm Eric, and I'm, uh, six!" He said, holding his hands up and counting incorrectly. It would've been adorable if Bethany weren't in a coldblooded terror at the moment.

"Right. I'm Bethany, not 'miss mage.' You shouldn't call _anyone _that, understand? That's a terrible thing."

"Oh. Um. Okay! I live, er, that way!" he pointed vaguely in a direction that wasn't remotely near Lothering. "I just got lost."

"Right. Do you live in Lothering, Eric?"

"Yep!"

Bethany rubbed her hand over her face, trying to quell the shakes that were threatening to come over her. A new realization dawned on her – what if there had been a templar nearby? _Oh Maker… they can sense magic from a mile away… I have to tell father… no… can't worry… what have I done?_ "What's your mother's name?" She asked shakily.

"Sarha. She's harvesting today. I didn't want to."

_Okay, so he's a farmer's son. Maybe… maybe he'll forget… oh Maker, I hope he forgets… _"Okay, let's find your mother, and remember, that wasn't magic. It wasn't magic at all. Understand?" She knew she wasn't making a good case of it but Maker's love the boy was six and she was more terrified than she could ever remember being.

"Okay," Eric said easily enough and gripped her hand more tightly. A brief, fleeting thought had Bethany marveling at the fact that this child had recognized magic when he saw it and hadn't shied away from her… but she couldn't afford to enjoy that. She was an apostate. Her family was harboring her and her father from the templars.

_Oh, Maker… please, please, please, let this child forget what he saw, I don't want to have to leave another home behind._


	2. Romans 5:3

She couldn't face her father. She didn't dare tell him. Or her mother. She sat outside their house, head buried in her hands, wondering what to do. Her hands were still shaking. _What do I do? What does anyone do?_

Chomper growled at her in a menacing, reprimanding sort of way. She glared up at the mabari. "Oh, don't you start like that. What would you have done?" Chomper growled, and whimpered. "That's what I thought. Now shush. I'm… I have to…"

On the long walk back home she thought that some bright idea would dawn in her mind and she'd be able to fix everything. A sudden epiphany would be wonderful. It seemed to happen to Sean all the time, so she figured it had to happen to her at least once, didn't it?

No such luck. No ideas, just blind panic left over from incinerating those wolves. And she still couldn't get the awestruck look of that boy's face out of her mind… _he wasn't afraid_, she realized. "Chomper, why wasn't that boy afraid of me?" She whispered. The dog gave a questioning grunt and cocked his head to the side, tongue lolling. "He wasn't scared. Anyone else would've been scared. Are all children like that? I-I don't, never..." Chomper, apparently, didn't know, or didn't care to answer, and just plopped down on the ground and started panting. She scratched his belly idly. "Oh, what do I do…"

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't muster the courage to face either of her parents. They'd either yell, or panic, or cry and then ultimately force the lot of them to leave. She knew that's what father would do. He would tell everyone to pack up and head for the road as soon as possible. They couldn't chance getting caught, ever.

She determined right then and there that no matter what, she wasn't going to let her stupid magic destroy this home. Even if… well…

She wouldn't think about that. It was too close to something she'd had in a nightmare.

Because she didn't know what else to do, she went looking for Carver. Maybe… maybe he would… "Oh, who am I kidding," she muttered to herself, "Carver would just tell me to suck it up and tell Dad. Or he'd go tell Dad himself." But she needed to tell someone, anyone, and Carver would understand. He would understand the way that twins always understood each other, better than other siblings, even Sean.

She eventually spotted Carver as he was heading home. He nearly waved at her but then he got a look at her face, and his visage darkened. She ran up to him and couldn't stop herself from hugging him in relief. He pulled her away and glared, eyes and face hard. A brief bout of irritation rose up in her – because really, what gave Carver the right to get so angry with her? They were the same age! But it was only brief. "What happened?"

"Sh, sh, it's not bad," she hushed, "I need to talk to you, though. Now."

"You're not fooling me," he snapped. "Whenever you get that look on your face it means something really bad has happened. So what happened?"

She glanced around, noting that there were some townspeople around them who might overhear. "Somewhere else, quiet. Please don't panic."

"I _am_ panicking, Beth," he told her bluntly, and she could see it in his eyes. He was starting to get the same drained look on his face that she was. He was just better at hiding it. She grabbed his hand and headed past the bridge and towards the nearest farm. She barely recognized it as Barlin's. No one was around, the field was empty, so she sat down in the grass and spoke as low as she could without whispering.

Carver was mad at this point. "Bethany, tell me what happened. Now."

She rubbed at her eyes and sighed, a sick feeling welling up in her stomach. "Carver," she began, "I think… I think I did something very bad," she admitted, her voice breaking a bit. "And I don't know what to do anymore."

His eyes widened. "Are you in trouble? Did a templar—"

"No." And she silently prayed, _no, not yet, anyway._ "But…" and then it all came out in a rush, the entire broken confession. She didn't try to stop herself from telling the whole thing or it never would have come out. Carver went completely still, completely silent as she babbled about that little boy and the wolves and how she wasn't sure whether or not she convinced him it _wasn't_ magic and how she couldn't tell Mother or Father because—

At some point her voice must've broken completely because she couldn't stop herself from crying a little. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to sob, but couldn't stop herself. At least the shaking in her hands had stopped, finally. "I don't know what to do," she managed to get out. "Carver, what do we do?"

Her twin didn't say anything. He was staring at the ground in silence, sitting completely still. He opened his mouth to say something, but it didn't come out and he clammed up. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Bethany…"

She tore at her hair in frustration – frustration with herself, with her tears that wouldn't stop, with everything… "I've ruined everyth—we've only been here for a _year, _I always—I'm such a bur—I, how could I be so…so…"

"Bethany," Carver cut her off shortly and reached over, folding her into a hug. "It'll… it's going to be all right. Please don't cry," he told her softly.

"I-I," she sniffled, "I'm trying not to, but I can't stop. I don't…"

"It's going to be fine," he told her into her dark hair. She couldn't help but note the uncharacteristic tenderness in her brother's tone. This was a side of him that she was pretty sure only she and maybe her mother got to see. His abrasive front went deep but it wasn't all there was. "You're going to be fine. I won't let them take you away just because you saved some stupid kid that couldn't save himself. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did," she sobbed, "I used magic… in front of someone. What if he tells… oh, Maker…"

Carver pulled her away and rested his forehead against hers. She tried to calm her erratic breathing but it didn't do anything because _now_ she had the hiccups and oh, she hated crying. "No matter what, sis," he told her gently, "I won't let them take you away."

"Okay," she said simply.

"But we need to tell Father."

She sighed. "I… you know what he'll do, Carver. It'll end badly."

"Well, fine, then, let's go get Sean and tell him to tell Father."

She shook her head abruptly. "That'll just end worse! He'll just get—"

"Then we need to tell father instead," he insisted and Bethany knew he had her cornered. She leaned away and rubbed at her face again. It must have been terribly red by that point, she thought. She looked around for Chomper and realized that the dog wasn't around. Oh well. He'd probably gone off to find his master. Bethany sighed, the sick feeling in her stomach from earlier reaching all new levels.

"Okay," she nodded, unable to help the hopelessness of that little admission. "We'll tell Father. Maker, this isn't going to go over well…"

"Tell me about it," Carver muttered darkly.

* * *

It didn't go over well.

On the plus side, Bethany finally discovered which side of the family Carver got that surly, dark glare of his from. It was definitely from her father's.

He was quiet. Still. His hands clasped on the table in front of her, unmoving. Bethany didn't dare meet his eyes because she wasn't certain of what she'd find in them. Anger, she could understand and maybe endure. Understanding, she wasn't sure if she could deal with that. Frustration she could handle, as well as sadness or uncertainty, but it was certainty that she feared. Determination. Because that would mean that he had already made up his mind, and when Malcolm Hawke makes up his mind, no force of this world or the next would change it.

So she looked at her mother instead, and the expression on her mother's face nearly broke her heart. It was pure hopelessness mixed with the same terrible trepidation that Bethany herself felt. She found it difficult to look away and break the stricken, blue-eyed gaze but eventually managed to do so and accidentally caught her father's eyes instead. Golden brown met hazel.

She was trapped.

Malcolm Hawke said nothing for a long time and thank the Maker Carver hadn't decided to break the silence with some tactless remark. Bethany knew that if Sean had been there, he would've taken the bait, and it just would've made things worse, so she thanked her mother for instilling some sense of common decency into her twin. But Malcolm still said nothing.

Then, quiet and expressionless, "We leave tomorrow."

Some part of Bethany's bones knew this, this exact situation, this exact conversation, as if she'd had it in a dream the other night or if she'd seen it played by an acting troupe somewhere before. Some part of her gut had done this song and dance before, and some other part of her rose up and possessed her to say, "No."

His eyes narrowed, distilled into cold little icy spheres. She'd seen the same look on Carver's face. _He has more in common with father than me even with my magic_, she thought idly. "Excuse me?"

"No," she said simply.

His nostrils flared but that was the only sign of irritation or emotion. He fixed his daughter with his most expressionless, guarded face yet. "I don't think you're in a position to argue, Bethany," he told her firmly. _Ah, _a part of her sighed. _So it's come to _this_ stage already. He's not even trying to lie anymore._

But she wasn't going to let him win. "No, Father," she said, matching his even tone. "Maybe I made a mistake – by using my magic to _save_ _a small boy_, but I'm not—"

"Bethany," her father cut her off, suddenly sighing. His guarded expression broke and she saw the emotions flit across, one by one – fear, worry, exhaustion, love – till they all stopped and meshed into one very open and very concerned-looking father. "Bethany, you did nothing wrong. Don't even think that."

She was suddenly rather mad, and she didn't really know why. "Then why do you want us to leave?" She demanded.

He wiped a hand across his brow and sighed again. "You know the process just as well as I, sweetheart – sooner or later the templars always find a way. It doesn't end. So we leave and find a new place. We start again."

Bethany looked to her mother desperately but Leandra Hawke was still passively speechless. She frowned. So, she was on her own with this one. "No. We-you—no. Lothering… Dad, ugh." She was grasping for words, trying to find the right ones, the right form, anything. She wanted…

"What?"

"It's not—"

"It is," her father declared loudly. "It always is. You know this. You have to."

"But…" she couldn't finish the thought—

"Lothering is our home." Carver finished it for her. She looked over at her twin brother gratefully, sharing a silent exchange. You always read my mind, she silently told him. Of course, idiot, he wordlessly said. We're twins. I always know.

"It's _home_," Bethany said, this time much more confidently. "And even though…Daddy, you always said I shouldn't be afraid or ashamed of my magic."

"I did," Malcolm Hawke conceded, a bit uneasily.

"Running away hasn't gotten us anywhere, and the only thing that running away would prove now is that I'm ashamed or embarrassed to have my gift. I'm not. Life would have been easier without it but I'm not ashamed." She paused, rubbing her face a bit in frustration. "That…that little boy… he didn't hate me," she added, this time much more quietly and much more uneasily. "He thought it was the most amazing thing he ever saw. I saw, I saw it in his eyes, he… no one's ever looked at me that way. He was just a child. Maybe that's why, because he didn't understand – but when he gets older, he will. The Chantry will tell him that mages are bad things that should be locked away, the whole lot of us. I saved his life and he'll still grow up to hate mages, and I can't change that." Bethany took a deep breath, hoping that she sounded more confident about her little speech than she felt. "All I can change is what _I _do. And if the templars are going to hunt us forever, than what does running away from them prove? If they're going to keep hunting, than someday they'll catch us. They're relentless. And I can't run forever. If I didn't do anything wrong, than I shouldn't _have_ to run, should I?"

Malcolm Hawke sighed for the third time that night. How he'd raised such a little idealistic daughter under his own nose, he didn't know. "In an ideal world, that would be true, but Bethany, I—"

"She's right, dear," Leandra suddenly interrupted. The three people in the room turned almost comically to stare at her. "Bethany's right," she clarified, "we shouldn't have to run. And we won't." She looked straight at her daughter and smiled a bit weakly. "We won't."

Malcolm Hawke was in stunned disbelief. "Leandra, we can't—"

"Yes we can, darling," she told him quite primly. "Bethany made a point that she insisted she didn't perform magic in front of the child. Whether or not he believed her, the templars aren't going to come knocking on our doors because of a simple rumor based off of one child's witness."

"Thank you, Mother," Bethany beamed.

"However," she added, holding up a finger, "we need to be more careful than ever. One child is hardly a witness, but we have to take precautions. That means no more practicing in this household." She looked very pointedly at her husband. "And no more using magic to start fires, convenient as it is. Or to clean. Or to do anything, really. We can't give the templars any form of reasonable doubt. Bethany," she looked back to her daughter, frowning, "you and I should go to the Chantry more often. Be more social. We'll a little isolated out here. Become more involved in the community. It will look less suspicious." She smiled gently. "We're not running away this time. This is our home."

Malcolm Hawke was still in stunned disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?" He roared, slamming his fist on the table. "At any moment we have to be able to pick up everything and run. You know this. I know this. Our children know it. It's our life. We've known this ever since we came to Ferelden, that our magic would mark us. We cannot fight this, Leandra. Some things – templars, _especially_, loveoftheMaker, _templars! – _cannot be faced! And I will _not _lose my only daughter to those bastards. We can't chance it. Not in the least."

Leandra rather tenderly placed her hand over her husband's and told him, quite calmly, with a gentle smile, "you convinced me to leave Kirkwall with you, love, and against my better judgment I said to the Void with logic and templars. Without you, Bethany would've been lost to their hands long before this. It would've been inevitable, and you and I both know it. We won't lose her to them yet. Lothering—"

"To Hell with Lothe—"

She raised her other hand to calm him. "Lothering is our home now," she said, echoing Carver's words. "There's no avoiding it. We've built things here, dear, things we can't replace – our lives, our loves… this little place, this hamlet is our home. How long has it been since we've had a place to call home? And I won't lose it to the templars either, but we can't solve this by up and leaving again."

Carver and Bethany shared another Look. "I'm bloody tired of running," he said quietly.

Bethany looked to her father who was lost briefly in Leandra's eyes. Her parents were having one of _those_ moments. It made Bethany briefly and absurdly happy. It meant her mother was getting through to her father, finally. "I won't let my magic destroy this," she said quite seriously. "I won't. Daddy, you said our magic wasn't a curse if it served the best in us. I can't hide, but I can't run either, or the templars may as well have already won."

Another few moments passed in silence. Instead of trying to avoid her father's gaze as she did before, she sought to hold it. She knew she wasn't necessarily wise, or necessarily as world-weary as her parents. She knew she was sheltered and as a result somewhat naïve, but she knew this with absolute certainty. Her mother was right – Lothering was their home now and come what may. They couldn't abandon it because of some wild rumor from a little boy about Bethany being a mage, no matter how true the rumor was. It wasn't right or fair. Not to her family, and not to her – under no circumstances would she ever let herself become ashamed of her magic. Not even after the long lecture in Gwaren shortly before they'd left when Bethany had inadvertently revealed her talent to that templar had made her ashamed, not even the least bit, of what she was. Because she'd been taught since birth that it was not any more of a crime to live as it was to be a mage, and even if during her quiet moments she resented the impact that her magic had had on her family's life, she didn't regret it. She wouldn't let herself. She couldn't. That wasn't what her family had taught her to believe. And she wouldn't let her magic or the regret of it destroy their lives, even if it meant facing the templars at their door in the morning, foolish as anyone else thought it was.

On some level, Malcolm Hawke knew this, because on some level, at some time, he had to have felt the same. And his daughter Bethany Hawke knew that he knew this. He had to have known because he was the one who had taught her everything she knew and had told her from the moment she was born that her magic wasn't a curse, or a gift really, it just simply was. That running, in the long term, would only make them seem guilty of something they hadn't done.

He sighed, the fourth time that day. This time, in defeat. His daughter smiled and looked to her twin apprehensively. He shrugged, just as uneasy as she was.

Then, her father smirked and had to ask the dreaded question, "So, what are we going to tell your brother?"

Bethany buried her face in her hands and felt like weeping all over again, for different reasons this time. Sean. Ugh. She'd forgotten about Sean. This was going to be ugly. The oldest child of the Hawke family was three times as stubborn as her father and had significantly less patience for these matters.

"Not it," cried Carver suddenly, and she looked up at him blearily. He folded his arms and shook his head abruptly, "uh-uh, I'm not going to be the one to tell him," he defended. "No way. Not it."

Just as Bethany was about to work some kind of excuse about how she conveniently would have to leave the house before Sean came home and how she simply couldn't come back until much, much, much later due to some kind of event, maybe Melissa-related, or Chantry-related – just as she was on the cusp of making up such a story, Sean chose to walk in.

Bethany groaned and banged her head on the table. Her father looked down at her and she thought he saw a bit of a smirk. She tried to glare but she wasn't very good at looking angry or upset. She didn't like getting mad, mostly because when she got truly angry she started crying and that was very embarrassing. So she just chose to look mildly irritated instead and counted backwards from twenty in her head.

She and Carver shared another Look, and he was totally unsympathetic. Uh-uh, he shook his head, you're dealing with him. Not me. No fucking way. You're such a wretch, she told him wearily and turned to face her older brother.

Sean Hawke looked very, very confused at the assembly before him and scratched at his stubble. "Did someone die?" he asked bluntly. "Is this a funeral?" He looked down at Chomper who'd arrived with him and scratched his mabari's ears. "Why didn't you _tell_ me someone died, you mangy git?" Chomper whined and scratched his side.

"No, no one died, son," Leandra said and smiled, but the smile disappeared quickly in the aftermath of the discussion that had taken place before Sean entered the room.

The eldest Hawke shifted from foot to foot in trepidation. "Is it… oh Andraste's tits, is this an intervention? Don't keep me in suspense."

Bethany looked up at him curiously, head cocked to the side. "Why on earth would we give you an intervention?"

"Beats me," he shrugged, still eyeing the scene suspiciously, "I don't _nearly_ drink that much. Or hardly at all," he added quickly, shooting a glance at his mother who frowned in disapproval. "Furthermore, you didn't hear anything, that's nonsense, I never said that, and I don't even know what you're talking about! Anyway, could someone sometime today tell me what's going on? You're making me very nervous and I'm all out of jokes."

Carver snorted. "That's a first."

"There's a first for everything. Seriously, what happened? Wait, did someone… actually die?" He shook his head and scratched at his hair, shocked. "Don't tell me I was really being that tactless."

"Hardly, Sean," their father interjected. "Nobody died. Someone nearly _did_," Bethany winced at this pointed reference, "but no one actually died."

"Just a little incident, that's all," their mother added in lightly. She looked at Bethany. "Would you care to explain to your brother?"

No, she wanted to say, _no I do not, because he's going to be yelling at me for the next two years. _She reasoned though that Sean would probably be only yelling at her because he cared about her, and that was the nature of family sometimes. It wasn't a very comforting thought though. The eldest Hawke could be quite stringent when he so desired.

"Well," she began, wondering where to start, forming a story in her mind. Then she decided to just wing it. She figured, what would Sean do? And Sean would wing it. Give him a taste of his own medicine. See how it worked. "I killed a couple of wolves with magic in front of a little boy."

Sean stared at her in complete blankness for a few seconds. "W-what? Sister, you… _what?_" He finally spluttered.

"The kid's fine," she told him matter-of-fact, "and all in all we probably _won't_ have templars knocking at the door, but you never know. What, Chomper didn't tell you? He was there for the whole thing…" She looked down at the mabari, counted _one, two, three_ in her head and braced herself for the coming storm, leaning as far back in her chair away from Sean's darkening visage as humanly possible. Carver slowly and surely backed out of the room, probably doing the same countdown in his head, and stuck his fingers in his ears. She looked back at him and frowned. He stuck out his tongue at her. She couldn't bring herself to roll her eyes at him, even – she felt betrayed, that Carver was leaving her there to face her brother's horrifyingly chaotic wrath alone with nothing but her parents for backup. She could almost literally feel the energy being sucked out of the room and begin swirling around her older brother in a maelstrom of what Sean himself would probably call "pure shit-your-pants."

An hour later and only partially deaf, Bethany admitted to Carver that the idea had worked out better in her head, but all in all was probably for the best. Sean never took bad news well and had a temper and a mabari to match. Bethany just counted herself lucky that her father had taught her a small healing spell a week ago that would probably help with the partial-deafness. (She didn't even bother to hope that there weren't any templars in the vicinity to sense the spell – in all likelihood they probably were nearby but it was almost impossible that they'd be able to pay attention to a slight twinge of magic over the ruckus Sean was causing. She nearly caught herself at one point telling him to 'shout louder, brother, I don't think they can hear you in Antiva'; she didn't know what would've happened if she _had_ said that, but it probably wouldn't have been pretty. Sean, somewhat of a hypocrite, absolutely could not tolerate people using his own sarcasm against him when he was pissed off.)

* * *

Nightmares weren't a stranger to Bethany. She'd had them most of her life. At some point, she wasn't sure when, she got used to waking up in the middle of the night, terrified that she'd become an abomination or there was one standing over her or that the templars were putting her to the sword or dragging her away from her family. She had reasoned that her fears were perfectly reasonable ones to have, being an apostate and raised on the belief that templars were essentially less-intelligent mabari encased in tin cans with a penchant for capturing and imprisoning innocent mages and ripping the magic right from their souls with secret tricks of the trade.

Bethany had never quite reconciled her inherent fear of templars with the image of templars she had now at her current age. She wasn't sure what exactly had changed, or when it had changed. She'd seen them, talked with them, and while she was terrified of them for the fear that they'd discover what she was, she ultimately couldn't look at them and seen what she'd seen through the rose-tinted gaze of her childhood. They were men and women, quite the same as the men and women she encountered every day. Well, not the same exactly. They did have the ability to rip the mana from a mage with an arbitrary thought, but that was no stranger than the ability she had to start arbitrary fires with her mind.

Bethany knew these things and yet couldn't shake her fear. A small part of her insisted that all she was and all she ever would be stood against everything the templars existed for. A small part of her knew that to be true and couldn't shake the inconvenient, insistent doubt that her fears weren't entirely justified. No matter what she did, however, her fear of them wasn't something she could quell. She couldn't control the terror that seized her whenever she saw that flaming sword, those iconic helmets, the sound of metal boots clanking in synchronicity; there was something about those things that was beyond her control and called out to her not as Bethany, but as a mage and to her magic, as an apostate on the run. No matter how hard she tried against it, when it came down to the very basics, Bethany Hawke was terrified of templars.

Now, more so than ever: her nightmares as a child had returned with a vengeance. Each night she woke up, paralyzed quite helplessly in the imagined terror of whatever her dreams had conjured up. Each night it was something new. It mostly involved templars. Her sixteenth birthday passed three days after the incident with the boy near the forest almost unnoticed – she hardly remembered that she was now older. Carver had been the one to remind her. It had been his birthday too, after all. She told him that she didn't feel older, only younger, like a little child again. He shrugged and said he didn't really feel different either.

She hated being afraid. She hated the sick feeling in her stomach every day, and with each day it increased. Some irritating part of her mind wouldn't be quiet and let her rest – it told her that no matter what she thought, nothing was over. The danger hadn't passed yet. It would never end.

Bethany knew many things. She knew how to cast several elemental and primal spells. She knew at least one healing spell. She knew that demons were bad, but spirits weren't necessarily good, and she knew how to resist them. She knew that templars weren't bad, but they weren't necessarily good, and she knew how to avoid them. She knew what plants were safe and what ones weren't. She knew how to run and when to run. She couldn't help that every instinct she had told her to run far away from Lothering the minute after the argument with her father and her eldest brother.

She hated being indecisive. She couldn't help it. She had never been good at making split-second decisions or finding her own way. She was used to having her family hiding her away and keeping her safe; she was used to having Sean on hand to fight off evil and fast-talk their way out of trouble. She was used to having Carver punch any boy that had ever confessed to liking her in front of him. She was used to having her father instruct her each day on the proper use of magic and how to hide it from others. She loved her family with all her being, but she didn't like it, the way they always had to look after her. She didn't know any other way and didn't want any other way. She was happy with her family and her home but she had never been quite… content. Which, in all honesty, was a slightly frightening realization. She had always been certain that she had been content, up until now, when she realized that her nagging doubts had a really good point.

"Maker," she muttered to herself, "now I know how Carver feels."

Her twin had always foundered wherever they went. She knew he felt overshadowed by Sean. Sean, whether or not he realized it, didn't do much to help that. She got the feeling that he knew at least on some level, which is where her brothers' rivalry stemmed from, but she also knew that on some level that he cared, which is why he did it. Sean was all about protecting the family. Carver never had been. She supposed she couldn't blame her twin brother for not really caring, because Sean was overbearing enough for the lot of them. It was the part of her older brother that she found most endearing and the part that annoyed the most out of her other brother. Carver was never too fond of emotion or big dramatic displays. He was always independent, but knew where his priorities were. That is, he knew that his priorities weren't important in the face of other's priorities. As a result, he was never content, and never quite happy with Lothering.

Bethany understood that. She felt some of it too, now. It wasn't quite the same thing. She loved Lothering. She didn't founder here, she had a place here – they all did. Carver could argue all he wanted about it but it was true. They'd found a niche, the lot of them. But Bethany sometimes felt that wherever she was, no matter what she was doing, she was a square peg fitting in round hole. She knew that Carver felt the same, but for different reasons; he foundered because of his personality, because of Sean, because of who she was and who her father was. She foundered because she was an apostate. She had never felt the same overshadowed feeling that Carver had felt towards her eldest brother. She had never really felt any rivalry at all towards her siblings, aside from the times Carver teased her and had nailed her pigtails to her bed when she was little. She'd gotten along well with most of the people she met in life. She didn't like conflict and didn't go out of her way to promote it like Carver. But she understood exactly why he did.

She didn't like feeling that way. She didn't like the realization that she had always, on some small level, felt that way. She didn't like being afraid of it. And above all, she was sick of it – sick of feeling sick, sick of discontent, and sick of hiding.

It was almost a relief to finally admit it to herself. She of course felt guilty that she felt resentful of her family in the slightest for it, but it was there, out there – and there was no hiding from it any more. No, she was sick of hiding from it. She didn't want to be hidden anymore. She had to be, she knew, but she didn't have to like it, and as irritating as that was it was freeing to know it finally for herself.

She wondered vaguely if it was similar to how her father had felt in the Circle in … wherever it was her father had been. She doubted it, really. He rarely if ever talked to her about the Circle, despite how curious she was about it. In the end, she supposed it didn't matter. It's where all mages eventually ended up, one way or another.

Bethany had been more discreet in visiting the Lothering Chantry. She'd stopped talking with the sisters and instead went about her mandatory pretending-to-pray. She believed in the Maker well enough, she supposed, but didn't much like the Chantry's idea of their Apathetic God. She wasn't quite sure what she believed, actually, but whatever it was, it wasn't the Chantry's belief. The same Maker Sister Ardalace and Sister Yvette worshipped couldn't have been the same Maker that made mages. It just didn't make sense.

She was currently in the Chantry, doing another pretend-prayer. She was with her mother. _Mum is praying for real_, she noted silently. Her mother always did. Bethany sometimes wondered why, but supposed it didn't really matter.

She looked up, noted most of the people's heads in the Chantry were down. Today there were no templars besides the two at the entrance that were always there, each day, as guards of a kind. Bethany had a good memory. She'd made a schedule for what days the templars would be crowding the Chantry and what days they wouldn't. The Knight-Commander was somewhere outside the town, that was all she knew. He'd been gone for a few days. Good enough for her. Less templars around, the better.

The Chanter standing upon the central dais raised his voice, his cadence changing as he began part of the Canticle of Threnodies. Bethany sighed. She hated this one. It was all about depressing things, like the darkspawn. And mankind's sin that created them. She was a bit naïve (at least she could admit it, even if she didn't like it – she couldn't help it if she was sheltered) but she liked to think that she had the sense to question the whole 'man created his own destruction' theory about the darkspawn. She wasn't even sure that the Black City was real. She'd seen something akin to dark floating islands in the distance whenever she was aware in the Fade or in her dreams (which was right around the time she woke up), but she didn't think it proved much.

She sighed lightly. Her mother nudged her elbow and Bethany squeaked and immediately put her head back down, pretending to pray. She caught a smile that tugged at the edge of her mother's mouth.

Leandra and her daughter left for home after about another half hour of the Chant. There was only so much solemn prayer and pretend-worshipping someone could take. Bethany wondered as she and her mother walked back home in silence if the Maker, all-knowing as he was, knew about her fake praying. _I suppose He doesn't mind. I haven't been struck by lightning yet, after all, so that has to account for something._

Bethany and her family hadn't said much to each other in the past few days. Even her birthday had passed in relative silence. After the magic incident, they had all been left very justifiably paranoid. She'd received some books and new clothes. Helped her father track down some elusive herbs just outside of Lothering using her odd plant-locating skills. She hadn't had the heart lately to go flower-picking. Nothing spectacular had happened and each uneventful moment just left Bethany more and more unsettled.

_ What am I expecting?_ She frowned to herself briefly but wiped the frown off her face as she opened the door to their home for her mother.

She hated the feeling, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for… something she couldn't quite name. Apprehension. That was the word she was looking for. She hated it. She hated being afraid, she hated her nagging doubts, and hated being hidden, and hated the fact that she felt any of those things. She'd often fantasized that she could be brave and charge off into the sunset or somesuch. She'd often wondered what would have happened to her if she had been as brave as, say, Sean. He was the brave one. Carver was as well, but compared to the older Hawke he was more reckless than anything.

The days following her incident passed soberly and sedately. In hindsight, it reminded Bethany of a funeral procession, _but hindsight is always perfect, isn't it?_ Those few days she felt bottled, tight, and insecure, like a thing about to explode. She didn't sleep very often, opting to spend the nights staring at the ceiling and taking intermittent naps in the day. The days were dreamless, which was a comfort. The nights were just awful. Every time the sun came down she half expected that every single clanking sound she heard – the house creaking, her father doing some inexplicable thing, Carver's muttering, Sean hanging up his sword – every sound had the potential to be a templar at the door. She wasn't normally a paranoid person but she couldn't help but feel that her family was being lax, that they weren't taking all the noises seriously enough. One time, it _would_ be a templar, and then guess who would be sorry? But she also knew that this was most likely the lack of sleep talking. It wasn't healthy. She didn't like it.

Out of all the things Bethany hated, which were really few and far between – she didn't think of herself as a hateful person and tried her best to be nice and polite – but out of all the things, waiting was the worst. She could be patient when she wanted to be, but wasn't patient by nature. She and Carver shared that the most. She knew that he felt the same things she did, whenever the impatience kicked in. She knew that he knew she knew she felt the same, for all the sense that made. The only real difference between her and her twin was that she didn't act on it. She didn't, because she was afraid.

Bethany was so very, very tired of being afraid. So tired that when everything finally did explode, when the glass finally came down and it all shattered to bits, not one inch of her was surprised. Well, she was actually idly surprised that she hadn't been surprised, but that didn't count. Not a bit of her hadn't anticipated this. Not a single part of her, body, mind, or soul, had doubted that it would happen. She'd hoped, oh yes, how she'd hoped it wouldn't, and all of her pretend-prayers at the Chantry had been devoted to that hope that it wouldn't happen. It did, though, against all her hope. _If this is the Maker's sense of humor, getting back at me for all the pretend prayers, his sense of humor is worse than my brothers'._

All the waiting, all the nightmares, all her conviction when she'd faced her father down and told him quite bluntly that there was no force in the Fade or on the earth that could make her run away, all of it was gone. It was almost a relief, really, to finally realize it and admit it to herself. Almost. She of course felt guilty that she was relieved in the slightest for it, but it was there, out there – and there was no hiding from it any more. No, she was sick of hiding from it. She didn't want to be hidden anymore. She had to be, she knew, but she didn't have to like it, and as irritating as that was it was freeing to know it finally for herself.

It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, but in some ways, the most simple thing in the world. _How could something so painful be so simple?_

* * *

It was Knight-Commander Bryant at the door.

Mother was gone, gone away with promises she'd return soon. Father was away, away busy with his work as he always was. Carver was off, off doing Carver-like things. Sean was off, off doing Sean-like things. Bethany was left alone. Well, Chomper was with her, as usual, but she wasn't sure the mabari really counted as intelligent as he was. Bethany was definitely alone for one of the very few times she'd gotten to be left alone in recent days. Especially after the incident with the child in the outskirts. _Why can't I wash that boy's face from my mind…_ The family had essentially vowed to never, ever, under any circumstances, leave Bethany alone ever again. Not because they didn't trust her, but they couldn't protect her secret when they were away from her. Mother had left only shortly, saying she'd be back oh-so-very-soon and that leaving Bethany alone for a few moments really wouldn't do much harm. Bethany could take care of herself. Dear, sweet, darling little Bethany, do be safe, you hear?

Bethany wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She was startled that a part of her found Ser Bryant's grim face funny at all, in an ironic, morbid sort of way – was she finally picking up on Carver's sense of humor? Or was this Sean's influence? Her brothers' aside, Bethany was alone, very much alone, and very, very tired of everything. She was tired because of her lack of sleep. She was tired of her dreams. She was tired of being scared. She was tired of being tired. She was tired of it all. And most of all, she was tired of running away from something that under no circumstances would ever fear, would ever sleep, or ever tire. It would keep running after her no matter how good she was at running or how fast she could sprint; it would always find her, always catch up with her, always mark her for what she was.

Magic._ My blasted magic._

She wasn't ashamed of it. But she did resent it, if only a tiny bit.

Maybe it was ironic then that Ser Bryant's face looked oh-so-very-tired. He looked older than when she'd last glimpsed him in the Chantry, which had been several weeks ago. His hair looked grayer, but that could have been Bethany's active imagination. His face looked gaunt, his eyes were distant. He'd left town for some templar business, she wasn't sure what it was, and she didn't keep herself updated on it. It didn't matter, because he was back, and he was at Bethany's doorstep.

Her first instinct, despite how very tired she was of it, was to tense up and be suspicious. She felt a bit at first like a deer catching the gaze of the hunter. The templar hunter, anyway. She stared at Ser Bryant for a few seconds before opening her mouth and asking shakily, "Um, can I help you Knight-Commander?"

She knew she wasn't fooling anyone, and she wasn't going to try to. She wouldn't bring up the incident by any means but she didn't leave out the vain possibility that this didn't have to do with the little boy and the wolves. She hoped it didn't, but it was an _incredibly_ vain hope. She had to wonder when she'd become so pessimistic – she hadn't felt this way a few weeks ago. _It's the lack of sleep. The dreams. Or Carver rubbing off on me – it has to be…_

Ser Bryant took but a moment to respond. "Miss Hawke, is it?"

"Bethany," she corrected immediately.

"And you are home alone?"

She looked around and caught Chomper's worried gaze. She reached down and patted his ears fondly, feeling a bit nostalgic all the sudden. Chomper was a good dog. He'd chewed up a bandit that had tried to attack her once. He'd always protected them. "More or less. If you count my brother's dog as company." Bethany hesitated, closed her eyes, and swallowed. The sick feeling in her stomach that had been there all these past days was becoming something else, swirling and turning and morphing into ugly butterflies. She took a deep breath and clenched the door more tightly. She looked up at the Knight-Commander and his grim face, knowing that she was unable to disguise the fear in her eyes. "If… it's important… Mother should be home in but a minute."

Ser Bryant nodded. "It is a matter of importance, yes, and I would like to speak to your mother, but first I must speak with you." His gaze was rather pointed and Bethany knew without explanation that _he knew._

He had to. She didn't want to think about it but there wasn't any avoiding it. That's what she told her father, wasn't it? Maybe the feeling in her stomach these past days hadn't been some kind of sickness, or a lingering intense fear, but a sense of guilt. She knew it was going to happen.

Not an inch of her was surprised. Not a single part.

She nodded at the Knight-Commander, feeling more resigned than she had ever felt in her life. She opened the door widely and stepped aside. She hesitated a bit before asking, "Would you like to come in?" because she didn't want to be the one to tell her father that she'd invited a templar, much less the Knight-Commander of all things, into their home.

But there was no avoiding it anymore.

Chomper wouldn't stop growling. She tried to shush him but he kept snarling violently. Bethany tugged at his ears and kicked him lightly on the behind but he kept on growling. She didn't really have to heart to tell him that there wasn't anything to growl about anymore, since it was already done.

At some point she found herself sitting opposite the Knight-Commander at the dinner table, eyes downcast. Maybe it was awkward but if it was, she couldn't feel it. The blood was roaring in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Her hands started shaking again. It was just like a dream she'd had the other night, only quite real and quite devastating.

She couldn't recall most of the conversation that passed, but essentially what it amounted to was simple. He was very well aware of the incident, and not because of the boy. A separate witness. She bit her tongue before she could ask, 'but I didn't see anyone else,' and opted to stare blankly at the table. She tried to think about what her father would do in her situation but her mind kept coming up blank, and she couldn't think straight over the roaring sound in her ears. Ser Bryant, by contrast, was very calm and subdued. She felt anything but. She felt like bolting, like making a break for the door – any second now – but the same part of her that was bluntly not surprised by anything that was happening stayed her hand. There was no point, it said. No point at all. Besides, if she bolted, the templars might decide to kill her, and she didn't want to die.

Ser Bryant in an infuriatingly calm tone of voice told her exactly those words she had nightmares about – that he knew she was an apostate. And that there were going to be consequences.

She stared blankly at the table in front of her, unable to think, unable to comprehend… she swallowed and met the templar's gaze. It was surprisingly sympathetic, she noted. Well. How odd. "What consequences?" She asked quietly. It came out more like a squeak and she had enough sense to be a bit embarrassed by that.

He told her exactly what they were. That under normal circumstances, she would be executed for being an apostate, but the considering her age and the circumstance of her family she would be spared and instead would be taken away from here and transferred to the Circle of Magi by Lake Calenhad where she belonged. She would be placed 'under observation' for a time. In the event that she was revealed to have learned forbidden magics during her illegal residence outside the tower, the templars would not hesitate to kill her.

"I didn't," she told him, more quiet than before. "I mean, I don't…" She couldn't hold his gaze anymore and it clattered silently and wordlessly to the ground, heavier than her brother's hammer on the anvil. Chomper finally stopped growling and began whimpering at her side. She rubbed his ears out of habit.

Ser Bryant told her quite firmly that she was to leave for the tower in the company of four templars and himself the following morning, and if she ran away before that time they would be obligated to punish her family and hunt her down. He didn't add the ultimatum, 'and execute you,' but Bethany heard it all the same. She knew the law that the templars abided by well – her father had been instructing her about it her whole life, from the moment she was old enough to read. She didn't think it would be worth it, to run before the morning when they came to take her away. She was so tired of running…

One of the worst feelings was that she knew she'd still be running, if only she hadn't said no to her father. She would be safe and everyone would be fine, if she hadn't been stubborn. She did her best to strangle that feeling of guilt.

A thought struck her suddenly, _what am I going to tell mum?_ And it paralyzed her with a whole new kind of terror. _Maker_… she felt like crying, but felt paradoxically as if she were dry of tears. What was there to cry about? She wondered. _It was the natural course of events… Ser Bryant is doing his duty… I belong at the Tower, with the other…_

She buried her face in her hands and breathed several shuddering breaths, in and out. Her father. What was he going to do? How would he react? He couldn't… he would kill the whole world if it meant protecting her, or any of his children. She knew that, and up until this moment it had never scared her before. He'd passed that trait onto his sons. She didn't even want to think about how Sean would react. She couldn't imagine…

No, she could, very vividly, and it was terrifying.

But _Mother…she could be back… at any second…_

Bethany looked up at the door, her heart skipping several beats. Ser Bryant watched her calmly, coolly, and she shivered a bit. She bit her lip and looked back at him. "Mother isn't… she isn't going to take this w…" she didn't bother finishing the sentence. She wasn't sure she could.

Knight-Commander Bryant surprised her by saying, "I understand."

She looked him back in the eyes and there was that oddly sympathetic look there. She found she was a tad grateful for that despite the fact that his presence here in her home spelled her extrication from everything she knew and loved. And she did generally fear and hate all templars to a certain degree. "I hope so," she admitted honestly.

Bethany was exhausted by the time her mother did come home. She'd gone through too many emotions in the space of too little time. First terror, then guilt, then frustration, then back to terror, exhaustion, more guilt, grief, and then finally numbness. There was a slight ache she felt when she watched her mother's expression as she caught sight of the Knight-Commander, but overall she felt nothing; a cold, dull, numb.

She'd been right, of course, that her mother wouldn't take it well. First there was the initial denial – the pretend-surprise, 'what a surprise, what are _you_ doing here?' then the 'I don't know what you're talking about,' and the '**_my _**daughter? A **_mage?_** Don't be silly, Knight-Commander.' Following that was the inevitable realization that there was no avoiding this, the plea-bargaining, the supplications. Bethany almost couldn't bear and kept her eyes firmly locked on the ground throughout. She didn't want to see her mother's tears. She didn't want to have to cry.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? Bethany looked up and saw the stark expression on her mother's face and felt hot tears well up in her eyes. "Bethany, no, no," her mother was mumbling over and over again, as if repetition alone would make it untrue.

"Mother, I…" Bethany wanted to say that she was sorry but that would be useless. Her mother nearly drowned her in a desperate, breath-quenching embrace instead, Leandra's sobs wracking both of their bodies, as if she held onto her daughter long enough she wouldn't be taken away. Bethany didn't bother with apologies or useless words and tried to quiet her mother's wailing instead. It didn't work well.

All the while she was still wondering, _Mother's here… what do I tell Father? Or… or my brothers… oh, Carver._

* * *

Bethany had made it a point, when things were dark and still and all else seemed lost, to use the stillness to silently count the gifts the Maker had given her. It was what her mother, Leandra, had taught her to do – on occasion, when life seemed to crumble all around her, Leandra Hawke could be found at the Chantry, praying for a peace of mind.

When Bethany first prayed to Andraste, she was certain that she would be struck by lightning for being a mage who _dared _to set foot in a Chantry, but to her immense surprise, nothing happened. She felt pretty normal afterwards, well, as normal as Bethany Hawke ever felt. The cool and peaceful feeling her mother described whenever she prayed wasn't what Bethany felt, but because it made her mother happy, Bethany had formed a habit of going to the Chantry and praying with her. Sometimes, instead of praying, Bethany would daydream, or count the threads in her skirt, or mentally going over the lessons her father gave her – anything to pass the time. It was rare when Bethany _did _pray, but she'd been known to, on occasion. She didn't really feel anything special about it. She had never been sincere about praying, since she felt that the Maker really didn't deserve her thanks and supplications after plopping her mage-butt down on this world full of templars and discrimination. She never voiced these things to her mother, since there wasn't anything to be gained from that area of discussion, though it's what she felt in her heart.

For the first time since she could remember, that night, Bethany Hawke prayed. She did not pray to the Maker, or to Andraste – but pray she did, to any God who listened. The night was dark and quiet, and Bethany was numb. She prayed that she would stay numb, because she didn't want to feel scared anymore. She prayed that her nightmares would end. She prayed that her family would be safe, that her brothers would stay out of trouble, and that the horror stories she'd heard about the Tower weren't true. After she was done pleading to the silence, she began to count, one by one, the precious things in her life she was grateful for: her brothers, for protecting her, her father, for teaching her how to protect herself, her mother, for loving her, for Melissa, the first 'normal' friend she'd ever had… she continued on into the night until she felt satisfied that she'd counted enough blessings, even though she didn't know who or what to thank for them all.

Although Bethany received no answer for her prayers, she didn't have nightmares that night. She had no dreams at all. She wondered maybe if it was an omen of a sort, that now that the worst of it all was over she would be if not better than at least not worse. She couldn't bring herself to feel optimistic at all, or to even smile anymore. Today was the day she'd be hauled off to the Circle tower, and there was no avoiding it anymore. A part of her had always wondered what life would be like amongst her peers, watched over by the templars. A part of her despised that other part for thinking it, since it almost felt like a betrayal of everything her family had done for her. The largest part of all didn't care one way or the other since it was happening, and there was no avoiding, no hiding, nothing. She didn't know when she'd become so fatalistic and she didn't like it, but there wasn't anything that could be done.

Everything that was said sounded like a goodbye. She'd put off the goodbyes and the tears until the second she left. She wished she hadn't, it might have been easier, but she never claimed to have the best judgment.

Sean had threatened to tear the templars in two. Chomper had growled right along with him. She knew in her heart that he meant it – he would probably rip them in half with his bare hands, except she told him quite seriously that it wouldn't help. She'd never seen him look so lost before. So unsure of what to do – her eldest brother always knew what to do in every situation. It's part of what made Sean, Sean. He had a quip and a pithy retort for everything. He didn't have one for this. He also wouldn't let go of her. Bethany was certain she was losing circulation throughout her body because he was holding on too tightly and wouldn't let go. She didn't mind.

Mother was still crying. Everyone was crying a bit. Bethany had always envied her mother a bit because she looked elegant and couth no matter what she did; she even looked pretty when she cried. Grief was never a pretty thing, however, and if Sean hadn't already cut off her circulation than her mother did it for him. When she finally calmed down for a bit, Leandra latched a gift around Bethany's neck, which she made her daughter promise to treasure – a golden locket with a faded engraving on the front. Mother had said that it had once displayed the Amell crest, and within the locket was all she held dear – images of her family, her life, her legacy, her most precious treasures. Bethany cried again.

Father was the hardest. He'd fought the hardest against it.

Bethany had finally told him 'no.' She thought that he had to understand on some level how she felt about it all. Mostly numb, mostly terrified. Her father wouldn't let go. She'd listened to him rage and curse against it, making promises he wouldn't keep, saying things that shouldn't be said. If Sean would've ripped the templars in half with his hands, Dad would've trapped them in a spirit prison and then set them on fire, and then he'd rip the remains apart. Then he'd reanimate them and do it all over again. She wanted to smile at that but couldn't. She was out of tears and smiles.

In the end, he had the same look on his face that she did. In the end, he understood. There was no choice, nothing more to be done or said. This was it. Father knew. He told her quietly, he whispered, "you'll be with your peers. You'll be able to study in the open for the first time. You'll… make me proud, sweetheart."

"A foot in the door," she whispered back. Her eyes stung. She thought she'd run out of tears but they poured down against logic. There were too many things and she couldn't say then. There was no time. "Isn't it, Daddy?"

He nodded and held her close. She couldn't see his face but could hear tears threaten in his choked voice. "Baby steps, darling. One step at a time. Takes time to make it all better, but it _will_ be."

She squeezed tighter, finding herself unwilling and physically unable to let go. "Swear?"

"I swear, if you shall swear to let your gift only ever serve what is best in you and not that which is most base," he told her, the words rumbling with the resonating promise of his voice.

"You're the best of me," she mumbled back. Father had said that many times before, and not just to her – it was almost like his catchphrase. She started crying in earnest then. It was awhile before she said the three words and was able to let go.

And then there was Carver.

There weren't really any words. They'd always been able to read each other's minds as twins. They understood each other. He understood what she was doing, better than anyone else in the room. Better than Mother and Father, better than Sean and his dog. Carver knew.

They stared at each other wordlessly, sharing wordless conversations. I'm scared, she told him silently with her eyes. Maker, I've never been so scared. I don't know what to do, Carver.

I know. I am too. I don't know. It's not fucking fair.

It isn't. None of it is. I don't know that it ever will be…

Don't let them know you're scared, he warned silently. Don't let them see that part of you. They'll take it and use it to break you in half. I don't want them to see you cry.

I won't, I promise. I won't ever cry.

Nothing will ever be the same. Not for you or me or any of us. Not ever, sister.

No.

And for one brief moment, even the silent conversation between them was silenced. There wasn't anything left to say, there wasn't anything left to be understood. Bethany went to her twin an embraced him without another word. The numbness was gone, replaced by something raw and simple and bitter and broken. Nothing left to be said but one thing, "I love you, Carver."

He only held on for a moment longer. It was time for her to go. "I love you too, sis," he whispered back and that was all.

The sick feeling in her stomach was mostly gone by the time Bethany left in the company of the templars. Sers Bryant, Antoine, Kiernan and Maron were playing the part of her captors, taking her into custody and towards the Great Mage Prison. The dawn was breaking, the sun stretching feathery tendrils of light pink across the eastern sky. She was tired, exhausted, and afraid. It was too early for her to get around to mustering up something to hope about; maybe tomorrow she'd try again. For now, the Circle and all of its mysterious doom awaited her.

* * *

The journey to the Tower was about three days with the five of them. Bethany had to wonder briefly what about her seemed to dangerous that four templars were needed to take her back in one piece to the Tower, but decided it was best not to question it. She was lucky they weren't executing her (or maybe they were taking her out in the middle of nowhere to do the deed and just hadn't told her or her family out of some sick sense of sympathy; she was shocked to find that she didn't mind that possibility). She was an apostate had been living in these templars' home village for over a year; she knew their friends and family members, and was on very thin ice because of it. Mages in glass houses shouldn't throw fireballs, as her father might say.

Thinking about her father and her family brought back an all-too-soon-and-all-too-familiar pang, so she distracted herself by looking at the plants. They were on the road and all manner of weed and random flowers were strewn about. She categorized and counted them, and when she was bored of that, she fantasized about braiding them between her fingers since she couldn't actually walk over and pick them or do anything remotely interesting with her hands.

She wasn't allowed to do anything with her hands. One of the rules. Ser Bryant had made it quite clear that if she so much as looked like she was about to cast a spell, they would be obligated to bind her hands. And if she did decide to cast anything, they wouldn't hesitate to smite her in punishment. She nodded and played obedient. No need to antagonize them. What's done is done.

Bethany got the impression that the other templars, not Ser Bryant, were surprised by her. Probably because she was being obedient and complacent. She just didn't see how causing trouble could really benefit anybody and she wasn't a trouble-maker at heart anyway. Ser Kiernan had even remarked that this had been the easiest apostate they'd ever captured and she'd winced at that. One pointed look from Ser Bryant had shut Ser Kiernan up.

She'd asked the Knight-Commander briefly what the Tower was like. He hadn't been very specific. So far, all she knew was that it was big, probably scary, and full of mages and templars alike. She found it a bit odd, that the templars lived in the Tower with the mages, although in retrospect she wasn't sure why she thought that was odd. Where else would they live? The Tower was on an island in the middle of a lake. It's not as if the templars had any place to go. She wondered if some of them felt just as trapped there as the mages, but somehow doubted it. Being a templar wasn't a stigma outside of the Tower, while being a mage was.

Bethany didn't talk at all the second day since she found herself in a justifiably untalkative mood. She spent most of the day staring blankly into the distance unthinkingly. Every time she thought about anything, it brought her back to her family, and she didn't want to think about that. Being mindless was easier. But, like the Circle, she just couldn't find a way to avoid it.

"Do you suppose…" she said aloud. The templar nearest to her, Ser Maron, quirked an eyebrow at her. She frowned. "Will I be able to send letters? From the Tower. To my family, I mean."

The templar considered this. "After you are out of observation, I suppose so, yes. But I wouldn't be the one to ask."

She didn't really have anything to add to that, so she nodded and kept walking.

_ What's 'observation?' What are they going to do with me?_ Her father hadn't said anything about… she sighed at the thought of her father. Whatever observation was, she hoped it wasn't serious. Maybe they would just sit around and watch her. Maybe they would interrogate her. Maybe they'd torture her. Although from what she'd heard about templars in the Circle from her father, they weren't the kind. Abuse of mages was frowned upon in the Order… not that it didn't happen. She'd had too many nightmares of the like to rule the possibility out, terrifying as it was.

Bethany tried to focus on something else. She fiddled with the locket at her neck protected beneath her kerchief. Her mother had shoved it into her hands that dreadful morning. It was old, older than she was, and had the remnants of swirling engravings on the pendant that had been eroded from years of nervous fiddling. She'd seen her mother absently rub it from time to time, not really as a nervous tick but out of habit, like tapping a foot or biting a fingernail.

She spent the third day walking on the Imperial Road in silence as well. There was very little to say to her templar captors. They didn't ask questions, just made demands. She considered Ser Bryant the nicest of the bunch since he at least had answered some of her initial questions about the Circle Tower but ultimately Bethany thought it was for the best to just stay quiet and cooperate from a distance. She didn't want trouble. She also didn't want to be dragged off to the Circle, but she had to go one for two and it was already done.

Bethany hadn't actually ever seen Lake Calenhad. Most of the time her family spent moving around had been around the Bannorn or in South Reach. There was a higher concentration of templars towards the north and east and her family made a conscious decision to stay as far away from the Tower as possible. No need to go out of their way to make themselves noticeable. She regretted it a bit, that she had never seen the Lake before – it was rather magnificent. Given the very gradual pace she and the Lothering templars were at, it was no surprise that they arrived at the docks of Lake Calenhad on the evening of the third day. The sun was just beginning to touch the edge of the Lake, changing it from a glacial blue to an orange flame. The Tower was dark and solemn, a black obelisk that pierced the purple and red sky. Bethany had read somewhere that the Tower was ancient and Tevinter and wondered what its old Tevinter name was. All Tevinter ruins had funny names. Ostagar, Aeonar…

Bethany'd been distracted, staring at the Tower and Ser Antoine prodded her in the back. She started out of her reverie and trudged forward. Her captors formed around her on each side, one behind, one in front and two on either side. Ser Bryant in front of her was quite tall and extra imposing in his armor so she didn't get much of a chance to see any details. She wasn't necessarily short, more like average, but had to inwardly curse her fate for being the shortest one in the family.

Little to no words were exchanged beyond Ser Bryant or Ser Kiernan ordering her forward and into the ferry that would take her across her lake and towards her prison. She sighed and stared glumly at the small boat before dutifully stepping on.

The Tower filled her vision and eclipsed everything else. It was larger than she'd expected, although she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting and only got bigger and bigger the closer the ferry took them. The gentle lapping of the water at the edge of the boat was soothing and she focused on that.

She hadn't been allowed to sit at the edge of the boat and so was stuck between Antoine and Kiernan, wondering briefly aloud how exactly it was possibly that four heavily armed templars, a girl, and a ferryman all fitted onto the boat.

The ferryman spoke up and answered her, much to her surprise. "Oh, Lissie's stronger than she looks, she is. She's carried far worse. Had to take seven templars and three mages not too long ago across Calenhad here – wasn't sure how that would work out but I needn't have worried. Greagoir said he'd pay for damages besides," he added with a chuckle.

She stared at the ferryman briefly, feeling a bit nostalgic for home and not really knowing why. "Who is Greagoir?" She asked quietly.

The ferryman hummed some unnamable tune under his breath as he rowed. "Knight-Commander of the templars at the Tower, of course. Good man." He glanced over at her, and then apparently something about her bothered him so he looked away. Bethany sighed lightly. Yes. She was an apostate. Evil, evil, evil. Nothing she hadn't heard before. Not that it didn't sting whenever people gave her that look.

"Pardon, what's your name, ser?" She asked, deciding to take advantage of what little conversation she could before Ser Kiernan or one of the templars interrupted her. She suspected that she would find very little 'normal' conversation at the Tower anyway and may as well enjoy it while it lasted.

The ferryman laughed at her formality. "Oh, don't need to be callin' me that, lass, I'm no ser. Kester's the name."

"Kester." She thought about introducing herself but decided there would be little point. She was just one apostate, one mage filing into the Circle like the others and in all honesty she doubted she would ever see Kester again. "Why is your boat named Lissie?" She asked instead.

"Named after me grandmum," Kester answered wistfully. "Was my father's boat before mine. Not sure why he named it after grandmum – shrew of a woman, she was, from what I hear. Constantly yelling and gibbering about this and that, always getting mad over silly things. Course, I suppose family's allowed to yell at each other now and then, 'specially my grandmum. Must say, though, hah, this boat's much better company than she was!"

Bethany smiled faintly at that. If she ever got a boat, she was going to name it Sean.

* * *

It was an odd feeling that she could probably never accurately describe to anyone, first stepping into the Tower and hearing the huge boom of the impenetrable doors behind her. She was naturally terrified; more terrified than she'd ever been in her life. It was a state of being she'd become familiar with over the past few days, complete and abject terror; she'd spent the last few days surrounded by templars, the things she feared most, and her inherent fear of templars only made her entry into the Tower worse.

They were _everywhere_. She could feel their probing eyes, and all of their eyes were on her – or at least she thought they were, considering the helmets. She glanced back and forth nervously between the two templars guarding the Tower's main entrance, caught between terror and fascination. These templars looked a bit different. She wasn't sure why she thought that but eventually decided that staring at her captors wasn't going to endear her to them (not that she wanted to be endeared anyway) so she stared pointedly at the floor, counting backwards from ten over and over again until her hands stopped shaking.

There had been no ritual here, no templar-memorizing. She knew that there was no point in it, since she had no desire to memorize the faces and names of her guards. If Bethany was in prison, there was no point in hiding from the wardens. All the faces and the figures blended together into a nightmarish blur. She began to shake again against her will, and focused firmly on everything that wasn't her feelings.

Everything was cold, hard stone, from the floors to the parapets. There was a statue of Andraste in front of Bethany but she refused to look it in the eye – besides, Andraste's eyes were always cast towards the heavens, away from her fellow man as she had eyes only for her Maker, which was something Bethany had always found a little ironic. Around her was Tevinter architecture, a few small statues here and there, columns and the like. She would have been fascinated if she hadn't been in a state of utter shock.

For the last week she had no idea what she was going to do with herself. She'd never truly been alone before in her entire life. Her brothers were always around, always with her, always there to protect her. She had to wonder if she'd brought this on herself even though she couldn't find anything wrong in her actions no matter how many times she ran it over and over in her head. She had saved a little boy. With magic, yes? That wasn't a crime. _It _shouldn't_ be a crime._

The templars apparently thought otherwise. Little boys only got to be saved by people who weren't cursed with magic. She felt very, very bitter and very, very hollow and very, very lonely.

She nearly reprimanded herself at the feeling – lonely was a bit of a selfish feeling, wasn't it? And besides, she had her mother's locket. She wasn't alone. She was away from the only people in the world that loved and cared for her and that she loved and cared for in return but the distance…the distance…

Bethany couldn't lie to herself anymore. She felt like dying but it wasn't an option. She wanted to break down and cry but the part of her that was pure Carver refused to submit. Refused to show any more weakness in front of the templars. Yes, that was it. Bethany found that little spark amidst her hopelessness and clung to it. Maybe it would carry her through the Tower because she was too weak, too… too…

She hadn't realized someone had been addressing her until her arm was prodded by Ser Antoine. She'd been staring at the ground very determinedly, absolutely not thinking about anything that would make her cry (it wasn't successful, her eyes stung). She looked up at Ser Bryant, forgetting all about the little spark she'd discovered in the last minute and falling into hopelessness again. There was nothing but the Tower. Her worst nightmare.

He must've caught something in her gaze because he looked pointedly away and towards a templar she didn't recognize. He looked old and grizzled and his eyes were shadowed. The other templars in the room all had their queer helmets on but he did not, and his fancier armor denoted that he was a templar in charge. Knight-Commander, maybe. What had Kester said about the Knight-Commander? Something, she was sure. Bethany wondered absently who the older templar was. And then realized she had run out of damns to give.

She unconsciously reached for the old locket at her neck, but at the last second remembered that she was to do nothing with her hands under pain of binding and/or death and slapped her hands back to her sides. She sighed instead and stared back at the ground, fighting back the stinging behind her eyes.

Bethany hadn't heard a word of what was spoken since entering the Tower. She was reasonably certain that she probably should have made an effort to overhear since it did concern her fate, but ultimately decided that there wasn't a point. She absolutely did not have a say in the matter.

"And of the family," the grizzled templar said suddenly. This, she overheard, and her heart raced at. No, not her family. _Don't mention them, Ser Bryant, please…I beg you…_ she fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and cry some more and balled her hands into fists at her side, breathing in and out in shuddering breaths as slowly as she could manage.

"The circumstances are unique," Ser Bryant was saying quietly. Bethany shot a glance at him, then back to the floor when her eyes started stinging again. _No, I'm not going to cry. No. Bloody well _no! "Her family has been living in Lothering for a great deal of time," Knight-Commander Bryant continued, "and considering their invaluable contributions to the community and its economy, as well as the relative harmlessness and peaceful complacency that this apostate has demonstrated to us so far, I have determined that the family is not to suffer reprisal."

"It is your jurisdiction," the other Knight-Commander said, the grizzled one, rather dubiously, "however, for harboring an apostate, even under these circumstances I would not allow it."

Ser Bryant inclined his head respectfully. "As you said, Greagoir, it is not your decision, but mine." He looked to Bethany, who was staring up at him with undisguised gratitude. It was unexpected under the circumstances that Bethany would feel anything but resentment or outright hate towards her captors, but Ser Bryant had been kind to her, under the circumstances. Hadn't he? And her family… at least they would be… would be… she looked back at the floor.

_ No, Bethany, no crying, damn you. Not now. _

"Very well," Knight-Commander Greagoir said officially and waved his gauntleted left hand. Bethany tensed at the sound of armored clanking footsteps echoed against the stone. The templars that had accompanied her from Lothering retreated from her suddenly and she stared around in bewilderment as two new ones pressed at her sides and urged her forward. She stumbled over the stone floor until she was standing behind Knight-Commander Greagoir, unsure of what to do. Was she supposed to know what she was going to do? Was there some kind of captured apostate etiquette she wasn't aware of? And what if… she breathed deeply and counted back from ten, staring at Ser Bryant and trying to communicate with her eyes her gratitude. She wasn't sure if he got the message but it was something to hope for.

The grand doors at the entrance to the Circle of Magi's Tower opened and the four templars from Lothering left, probably never to return. Knight-Commander Greagoir stood very still for a few seconds before glancing at Bethany. She stared up at him, inwardly angry at herself for not being defiant by nature and instead looking like a frightened animal. She was sure that was how she looked. It is, after all, how she felt.

"Apostate," Greagoir enunciated officiously, his sonorous deep voice echoing around the central room they were in. "You have been brought by the templars to the Circle of Magi where you will begin your proper study as a mage amongst your peers. Here you will be taught the proper use of magic, and the punishment for its improper use. 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,'" he recited. "So Andraste spoke as she cast down the wicked Tevinter Imperium, and so we hold her words true to this day. We Templars watch and protect to ensure the safety of the most." He paused to stare at her and she nodded quickly and nervously to assure him that she was listening. She didn't have a choice in the matter, after all.

"Know this," he continued, "because of your illegal residence outside of this Tower you will not be allowed with the other apprentices unsupervised and will only be allowed amongst them at all during your studies – which will begin tomorrow afternoon – and during mealtime. You will be placed under observation by we templars in separate quarters for an undetermined length of time, until I am satisfied that in no way has your residence outside this Tower made you as a danger to those around you. Do you understand?"

Bethany Hawke nodded, quickly, nervously. _Tomorrow? So fast…_

Greagoir shifted slightly, armor clanking. "From this point forward, then, you are an apprentice of the Circle of Magi of Ferelden. Welcome to Kinloch Hold."

And now she was in her new home. But there were no plausible circumstances that Bethany would have ever arrived at the wretched Tower and called it 'home.' It was a mockery of home, a place of unfeeling stone and solemn statues and creepy stalker templars. It was everything that home would never be, and Bethany knew at heart that no matter if she ended up spending the rest of her life in the Tower, that was how she would always feel, like an unwelcome stranger. It stung more than the tears that threatened her eyes. _You're not going to bloody cry_, she imagined Carver would say to her. _Not now, not in front of them. Don't give them the satisfaction._

* * *

She had been placed firmly in an uncomfortable chair in the Knight-Commander's office – there were three templars in the room including the Knight-Commander and two unfamiliar helmeted templars that she did not care to find the names of. Time seemed to slow down in that modest room as she endured the templar's watchful gazes. She was sure that she was to be interrogated, but wasn't sure when it would begin.

"You are Bethany Hawke," Greagoir suddenly said.

Bethany started at this. She had worked it out in her head, her name and the dangers of it. It was possible the name Hawke could be linked to her father and since Ser Bryant had made no mention of him, she wanted to keep as low a profile as possible. "N-no, it's not… Amell."

The Knight-Commander's gaze narrowed. "Pardon?"

She flinched involuntarily. "M-my name is… is Amell." She caught herself fiddling with her hands but since she hadn't been told yet whether or not she could use them without being bound she slapped them back down on her lap and breathed deeply. "Hawke is… a more c-common last name. M-my family adopted it… less s-s-suspicious than…" She looked up and gulped. "Amell is a noble family in Kirkwall, never been there myself but mum said I was born there, an' we didn't want to be associated with, I mean, w-w-with them, if someone, you know, knew about the family, and… it's Bethany Amell. Not Hawke. That's my real name." Amell was her mother's maiden name and it was indeed a noble line, from what Bethany knew. Since her mother had spoken very rarely of her family, Bethany only knew that they were noble and nothing more; it was a plausible enough story, she thought, and would avoid the potential association with her father's name. Ser Bryant may have prevented reprisals against her family, but Bethany was still going to try everything she could to protect them from her magic, even locked up in a Tower.

The Knight-Commander stared at her and she looked very pointedly at his desk, afraid of meeting his eyes. After a few tense seconds the elder templar grunted. "Very well, then, Bethany Amell. You are sixteen years of age."

"Yes," she uttered quietly.

Greagoir's nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply and paused. "I will ask this only once, since it was not included in Ser Bryant's _extensive_ report, but is yet out of my jurisdiction. Where did you learn your magic?"

"Uh…w-what?"

"You have hidden your gift for many years from the public. No known incidents of accidental magic or outbursts of any kind. This is a feat and requires more than passing skill." He stared her down in an almost outright hostile manner and she flinched again. "Skill I would be a fool to believe you acquired on your own, at your age. Where did you learn your magic? From whom?"

She'd anticipated that they'd ask this of her if they didn't already know about her father but unlike the issue of her name she hadn't been able to come up with a good story. She thought fast, and finally blurted, "books."

Greagoir stared at her, gaze narrowing further. "You expect me to believe that? Tell me, are you the only mage in your family? Or are there others?"

She bit her tongue – the part of her that was inspired by her brothers wanted to say something snarky but she knew much better. "I don't expect anything, ser," she told him calmly. "From _Fortikum Kadab_ to _The Nature of Mana_, I found as many books as I could and learned from there. I taught myself. There are no other mages in my family, ser. I'm the only one. They only kept me hidden because they didn't want to lose their daughter to the Circle. It's not a crime, loving someone enough to protect them like that for sixteen years, and I think I've been a pretty good sport about all of this so far, so excuse me for getting a little defensive. Ser." She couldn't help the trembling in her voice but was rather proud that had managed that explanatory defense on the spot. She felt a tiny swell of pride at herself.

Greagoir obviously didn't buy it but she didn't expect him to. She breathed a bit easier when he didn't press any more, though. He said he would only ask once and he kept to that.

Two hours later after Greagoir wrote down some things on papers – _Are those my records? Is he writing them? _– she was escorted out of the office and back towards the entrance. The walls were vaguely circular and it was almost dizzying, looking up at the ceiling and following the clanking templars. She knew what her mother would say. It was too high up, Leandra Hawke would say, for any decently run place. Bethany wondered if anyone had ever been to the top of the ceiling. How did they get the dust up there? With magic, maybe? No spell she knew of would help in the cleaning.

She opened her mouth to ask out loud but then remembered that the question was a) stupid and b) she was surrounded by armored lunatics. One of them without the stereotypical monkey-helmet didn't look quite so grim but she wasn't sure she wanted to test it. He looked much younger than the others. Apprehensive, maybe. She didn't know. He seemed to sense her gaze and glanced over at her curiously. She looked pointedly at the ground again. _Bad Bethany. The templars do enough staring for the lot of us mages._

They eventually told her that she was going to have a 'phylactery' taken from her. She had never heard of such a thing and was shocked that she hadn't. Something else her father hadn't mentioned? Knight-Commander Greagoir claimed that a mage's phylactery was its 'essence' and that it was how the templars could track escaped mages. She bit her lip when she found herself nearly asking how such a thing was possible or if she could just skip the phylactery and get to the lessons. Whatever it was, it didn't sound pleasant.

"OW!"

It wasn't pleasant.

She was pricked with a needle the size of a claymore and forced to bleed into a vial. A lot. And she could do nothing but stare. She gazed around in bewilderment at the templars around her who were letting it happen – one was holding her arm quite firmly over the small vial and the others were just staring, as if this happened every day.

The blood collected in the cylindrical vial and eventually was stoppered shut. One of the templars gave it to the Knight-Commander and she stared as she watched him walk off with it out of the room and in the opposite direction of which they'd come. She had absolutely no idea what had just happened.

"Um," she said aloud and then looked at her arm that one templar was holding in a vice grip. It was bleeding profusely on the floor. She stared at her throbbing wound, unable to look away.

The one without the helmet came over and eventually bandaged and even apologized to her when he tied it too tight. This surprised her – not that he apologized, it was just common courtesy, although it _was_ mildly surprising under the circumstances – but that the templar had spoken to her at all. None of the others had bothered, except for the Knight-Commander. She nodded, unsure of what to say. Were there even rules, about templar-mage interactions? She didn't know of any, though Bethany supposed it'd be a bit silly to expect that the templars of the tower would be on speaking terms with the mage inhabitants. _They're our jailers._

Eventually after the little blood-fest she was dragged off to yet another location, this one impossibly more gloomy than the last. She was handed some brightly colored clothing and escorted by two templars, the nice one she didn't know the name of and some other one that likewise wasn't wearing his helmet, to some room where she was told she would be staying until she was out of 'observation.' She bit her tongue to prevent her from asking when in hell that would be.

There was a bit of a dilemma first, though. The door was closed and not opened for her. Bethany stared at the knob, unsure of what to do.

"Um." She reached slowly for the knob, catching the glimpse of the nice light-haired templar out of the corner of her eye. She drew her hand back immediately and bit her lip, staring at it frustration. _Now what?_

"What is it?" Came an unfamiliar voice from her left. She nearly jumped out of her boots and whirled around with a yip. It was the other templar, this one with dark hair.

"I, uh, the door," she stated dumbly and looked back at the unopened door.

The templar eyed her carefully, as if judging her sanity. "Yes. That's a door."

"I-I-I just, huh," she glanced back at the door and reached for it, flinching.

"What's the problem?" The templar demanded angrily.

She flinched a bit involuntarily. "Iwasn'ttoldifIcouldusemyhandsyet," she blurted all at once.

The two templars stared at her and she fidgeted under their twin glances. Suddenly, the one on the right, the nice one, started laughing. It was Bethany's turn to look at him if he was crazy. "W-what?" The nice one guffawed.

"It's not funny," she muttered under her breath. "I just… may I use my hands now, please?" Bethany asked as politely as she could manage under the circumstances.

"Of course you can use your hands," the other dark-haired templar chortled. "Why in the world would you need permission for that? That's—absurd! Ha-ha-ha!"

Bethany gritted her teeth and opened the door, silently cursing templars and all their insipid, incomprehensible rules. _No one ever tells me anything,_ she thought bitterly.

* * *

Bethany Hawke liked bright colors but even _she _thought the standard mage robes were too bright. She wasn't allowed a mirror, but she felt ridiculous, and that was enough. Her dignity couldn't take much more of this. She said a silent prayer to Andraste and sat down calmly on the provided bed, counting the minutes as they went by.

Any minute now, she was certain something was going to happen. She'd only been in the room for an hour. Bethany had been told to change into her new wardrobe and wait until the templars came to her for further instruction. She wasn't certain that there was anything left for her to do. Maybe they were going to put her in chains? She'd asked the dark-haired templar at the door if that was going to happen and he'd given her a weird look, made an indignant noise and ignored her for the rest of the evening. She worried about what that meant, since that neither answered nor really dismissed her inquiry.

Bored, Bethany began to tap her bare feet on the stone and hum to herself. The shoes that had been provided for her were too small, which was odd because she had small feet to begin with. She sighed mournfully. _I miss my old clothes. _

She'd been trying her hardest not to think about Lothering or her family but her mind didn't listen and all this alone time was doing wonders for her attention span. She couldn't _help _but think of her family since it was the only thing _to _think about, after being cooped up in the small stone room for so long. There wasn't even any windows in the room. Well, there was one window, but it was far too high up to see anything out of, in addition to being barred.

What would her father say, she wondered? What would Malcolm Hawke do? Would he try to escape through that small window? Would he make a witty remark, flippantly dismissing all the events? Would he fight this? Would he just endure his fate? Bethany had never quite thought of herself as a passive person, she just didn't like conflict. Nor had she ever experienced shame at the thought of being passive, so this was a new experience for her. She couldn't quell the anger she felt at herself for accepting this.

But what could she do? What could be done? Struggling wouldn't serve anyone. This place, this prison, was all she had now. It was the beginning and the end for Bethany, the inevitability of everything made real. She was a mage. She belonged with other mages. Didn't she? A small part of her had always thought that, had always wondered if it would be so terrible to follow Andraste's command and be a part of the Circle… but if that was so, what was this anger all about?

Bethany sighed. She wasn't in the mood for soul-searching today. "I wish there was someone to talk to," she murmured into the empty room. She sighed again when she realized what she was doing. "Didn't Sean say that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity?" Alas, she was bored, and it's common knowledge that boredom drives men (and teenagers) to do some strange things.

"…Well, what do you have to say about that now, Bethany? Well, I quite agree, I think we're going mad, yessir. Oh dear, whatever shall we do! We'll just have to sort it out with a quick game of… uhh… Eye Spy! Yes, that's what we're gonna do. Except that's no fun when both the players are yourself. Why do you say that? Well, there's just no mystery to it! You have to add a little mystery to have a good game of Eye Spy and I'd know what the object was since I'm in your mind, Bethany. Well, Self, what do you suggest? How about a good game a mental chess? Self, I think that's a brilliant idea! If we can keep track of all the pieces, that is. Oh dear, that would be difficult, wouldn't it? What's a less difficult game, Bethany? Oh, I don't know, Self, how about we sing a song or two? Say, that's a good idea, Bethany. Of course it is, _I _came up with it—uh oh, I'm turning into Sean," she suddenly cut off, scratching her head. She absently wished she had a hairbrush, and began to pull out strands of hair for braiding.

Sighing, she hummed a tune to herself and reached for her mother's locket to fiddle wi—

"No!" she gasped. The locket was missing.

"Oh, no, no, no, _noo!_ Where'd it go? Oh Maker, I'm a horrible daughter, mother I'm so sorry – I must've… it must've… no…" She leapt off the cot and dropped to her knees, trying to control the cursing (Bethany found the further away she was from her brothers, the more she started to channel them, and it wasn't a good thing). In a cold dead panic, she crawled and felt every inch of the floor, looking everywhere. She wondered briefly if the locket might've fallen off in the hallway, or maybe it had accidentally come off when she'd changed her clothes, but her clothes were gone, thrown away after she'd taken them off and dressed in her new robes. That could mean either the locket was lost somewhere in the halls of the Tower, or that it had been taken away by the templars to Maker knew where, and deciding that she didn't like either of those options she chose to ignore them and keep looking.

She searched and searched but it was useless – the locket, the only thing she had left of home, was gone – and now completely at a loss, Bethany did the only thing she could do. She plopped down on the cold stone, buried her face in her arms and cried.

A detached portion of Bethany that lurked in the back of her mind found it odd that the two hardest times she'd ever cried in her life had happened within less than a week of each other, and wondered at this rate, what else was going to happen, what else she could cry about next time, and if she'd have any tears left at all.

* * *

The nice templar was looking at her strangely. Bethany did her best to ignore him but it was starting to really bother her. She glanced at him a couple of times and finally got fed up with it. "What?" She demanded.

He looked startled. "Oh—sorry. I, uh, didn't mean to stare. It's just... sorry, nevermind."

Bethany was confused, but she was too upset from earlier after discovering that her mother's locket was missing to care much. She wiped angrily at her eyes, which she knew were red from all the crying, and sniffled a bit. "Okay. It's okay. I'm sorry for snapping, that was rude of me."

She was being escorted by the light-haired templar from earlier through the halls of the Circle Tower, towards the fourth floor, they told her, which held the mess hall. It was good, because Bethany was starving, but bad because she wasn't in the mood to eat. She wasn't in the mood to do anything. She felt less like she was dying and more that she was already dead, but she didn't have a choice in the matter, did she? But if she was certain of one thing, it was that she wasn't going to be a baby about this, and she was most certainly not going to cry in front of the blasted templars. If Carver found out, he would never let her live it down, and that unspoken promise between her and her twin was the only thing keeping her together at that moment.

"You look very upset, is all," the templar interjected suddenly, bringing her train of thought to a screeching halt.

She looked over at him, gazing at him for a long moment. Figures she'd get stuck with the one chatty templar. They weren't supposed to socialize with mages, right? She inwardly sighed – since when had she ever been this cynical? _Maker, am I ever channeling my brothers today. _"I am upset," she said quietly. "I… I lost something important, m-my necklace, and… I really… I looked everywhere for it, I don't know where I could've dropped it… and… it was all I have of home that yo—that they didn't take away." She bit her lip. She didn't want to say more. It really was too private a thing. She wiped away at her eyes when tears threatened to come over. _No, no tears, Bethany, this is no time to be silly._

"I'm sorry," he apologized impulsively.

Bethany was surprised, but a bit grateful that there was at least one templar in the Circle here who wasn't a totally scary mage-hating monster. Or at the very least, this one was doing an excellent job of hiding his nature. The gesture did not comfort her, though. "Thank you," she said awkwardly.

He seemed a bit distracted and kept glancing off to the side, but Bethany either didn't care or didn't notice. She figured that ultimately, it didn't matter if he was being polite, because he was still a templar and she was still a mage. Some gaps could not be bridged. He certainly did try, though: "I'm Cullen, by the way."

She sniffled again and wiped at her red eyes. They were itchy now. She didn't want to think about what a mess she looked like. "Cullen," she repeated, nodding. A name to a face. She was good with names and faces. "I'm Bethany."

"I know," he said immediately, then apparently regretted it, "I mean, I knew that, you're, I know your name. Bethany Amell. That's a very pretty name."

"That's what my father said when he named me," she nodded, half-smiling ever so little, rubbing at the now-empty spot at her collarbone. "According to my mother." She regretted bringing up the subject of her family instantly, and began to feel hollow. She'd probably be the only mage in the tower who'd known a real family… A small part of her wondered if the feeling would ever cease and that wound would heal with time, and a bigger part of her doubted it. However, it was a step. A baby step in the right direction. One foot at a time, one day at a time. It would take time to make it all better, but it would be. Maybe the feeling would never go away, and from the pointed way that Cullen was _not_ looking at her, Bethany could tell her face was an open book on that matter, but it was possible to get used to the feeling with time. Maybe she'd grow numb – it was something to hope for.

_ I just wish it hadn't cost me mother's locket_, she thought, clutching at the nape of her neck where the emptiness resided.

At least there was something to take her mind off of the matter – Cullen was more than happy to talk her ear off, even if she wasn't in a talkative mood exactly and still wasn't sure if he was even _allowed _to talk to her. Still, he would know the rules about that, not her. She rather liked listening to him prattle on about this and that and life at the Tower. He reminded her wistfully a bit of her brother Sean, or rather a much more polite and genteel version of her elder brother. And they didn't look at all similar either. And Sean was a fast-talking, rude, maniac with a gambling problem. Come to think of it, the two could not be more dissimilar. _Where did I get that idea from, anyway?_

The following dinner also took Bethany's mind off her hardships and she could say quite easily that it was the strangest dinner she'd ever had in her life. It stole the record away from the dinner in Gwaren, before the templar incident, but after the incident with the "dog." (See, Bethany had found a puppy on the side of the road one day that turned out to be a Desire demon in disguise – her father had easily slain it, immediately recognizing it for what it was, but the demon had some lingering effects, namely Bethany's sudden but temporary short-term memory loss, a haunted set of cutlery, one zombified cat that used to be Sean's named Mr. Wuffles – he was terrible at naming things – oh, and a floating bag of hats. To say it had been a weird dinner that night was an understatement. She didn't remember most of it, due to the memory loss, and naturally having heard about the whole thing in intimate detail from her brothers the following morning, her first reaction had been, "that's nice, but I'm really glad I don't remember any of it.")

It wasn't that anything specifically weird happened during that meal or that there were any haunted cutlery or floating hats, but the sheer awkwardness of the moment. Bethany knew an awkward situation when she saw one – she felt somewhat awkward in most social situations herself, as she was not an extraordinarily social person due to her isolation from others, but for some odd reason she wasn't quite feeling it. The tension in the room was certainly palpable but instead of shrinking down like a mouse and crying a bit more about her lost locket, she felt more like laughing than anything else.

It was a startling feeling for her, but soon enough she really had to try and control herself from just bursting out into laughter.

The very instant she entered the main hall with the other apprentices, the instant she was led to a table and allowed to sit down with the others, the hall went silent. Every single eye in the room was on the apostate. She didn't like the attention at first her face went redder than a tomato, naturally, but after a few seconds of enduring the unwavering attention, she somewhere along the line stopped feeling awkward and started finding the whole thing funny.

There was nothing hilarious about it whatsoever. It was actually a bit terrible, really. She didn't even know what the joke was, only that she wanted to laugh, harder than she'd ever laughed in her life.

It was the weirdest meal she'd ever had.

It was pretty bland too – not at all appetizing, but she supposed it could have been worse. And maybe it was just because she hadn't been hungry. She hadn't been hungry at all lately.

By the time she was finished eating, she really couldn't control herself any longer and felt herself begin to shake with silent giggles. There was a rather good-looking elf sitting right next to her, staring at her with rapt attention. She tried to look away but couldn't, and caught his eye. To her immense surprise, he grinned.

"You lose," he said suddenly, and started laughing. She blinked, unable to contain her surprise as all the blue-robed apprentices at the long wooden table she was at started chuckling.

Soon, she wasn't able to stop laughing either, even though she still didn't know what the joke was. She couldn't express how much of a relief it was, although a bit strange, to finally have something to laugh about … even if the thing was nonsensical. To finally let loose, if only for a few seconds, after the last few tension-filled, tragic days. Even if Bethany was among strangers, it was good to finally laugh again.

"What is it?" She eventually got around to asking.

The elf rolled his bright green eyes and blew a bit of his short dark blond hair out of his face. "Well, we all know who you are, right?" He began, his light tenor voice still shaking a bit from chuckling. "I mean, _everyone _knows who you are. Second you walked into the room, boom, everyone, eyes on you. So I figured it'd be funny to freak you out a little. Managed to get everyone in the room to stare at you like a weirdo. Wanted to see what you'd do, or how long it'd take you to crack."

Bethany frowned, but then smiled, but only ever so slightly. "Rather mean of you, don't you think?" She said lightly.

"Meh," the elf shrugged, brushing off one of his sleeves. "Probably, but it was pretty great, and I just won a lot of money because of you, so I owe you one. What's your name?"

"You said everyone knew who I was," she stated, looking down the table. A few people still had their eyes on her but most were chatting away, idle conversation – the room was filled with noise, and it seemed right.

He rolled his eyes again, turning to face her more. "Well, I mean, we all know you're the apostate girl they caught but that's it. What's your name?"

"Bethany Amell."

The elven mage stuck out his hand and smirked. "Jordan Surana. So how'd they nail ya?" He asked eagerly.

"Huh?"

"Catch you, snag you, drag you by the hair like an Antivan whore – how'd the templars getcha?"

"Oh." She nodded in comprehension. "It's not… well, it's a very… boring story."

"You're an apostate!" He exclaimed loudly and for a brief moment everyone's eyes were on her again. It was only brief, however. "Everything you are is exciting. Don't you know _anything_?"

_Everything I am is… exciting? _"No, should I?"

"Yes, you totally should," he cried. "I mean, none of us have ever been outside the Tower, 'cept for Anders. Well, I mean, besides from when we were born, obviously, we weren't there, but most of us were taken here too young to remember anything. You're different. You were born outside and raised outside. You know what it's like out there. You've seen the world – _we _haven't." He groaned, exasperated by the blank look on Bethany's face. "You don't know anything, do you?"

Bethany frowned at this, carefully folding her hands in her lap. "I thought I did," she said quietly, "but I suppose I don't." And for the first time, she resented her father a bit, but only _ever so slightly, _for not preparing her more for this eventuality. She loved her father to tears, oh yes, and always would, but a nagging part of her mind insisted that he'd deliberately kept certain things from her. Then again, it's not as if Malcolm Hawke would ever have anticipated the Tower taking his child while he was alive, did he?

She sighed. "I'm probably a huge disappointment."

"Huh?" Jordan looked at her strangely. "Whatever. Look, Beth – can I call you Beth?"

"Um, sure."

"So listen, Beth, I decided that I'm going to be your best friend here," Jordan informed firmly.

She looked up at him in a bewildered way and tucked her black hair behind her ears. "When did you decide this?"

The blond elf smiled and opened his mouth to talk, but another mage interrupted him – a dark haired human from across the table that Bethany hadn't even noticed had been paying attention to their conversation. "Only the very instant he heard of your existence," the human mage said wryly. "I'm Jowan, by the way."

"Jowan," Bethany repeated seriously. A name to a face. Now she knew four people here. It was progress, if nothing else. She never would have envisioned in her life she'd be sitting amongst fellow mages, making friends, especially not in this dark situation.

"Don't listen to him, he's full of crap," Jordan said bluntly, and Jowan rolled his eyes and snorted. "He thinks _he's _my best friend but what does he know? Seriously, though, me, you, new best friend, braid each other's hair, giggle about boys and all that stupid stuff. Gonna be great. And you're gonna tell me everything about you, and I'll tell you all kinds of secret shit about me," he trailed on and on, "and I get the luxury of knowing by proxy what it's like out there in Ferelden and you get the rare, awesome privilege of being the great and illustrious Jordan Surana's bestest friend forever!"

"It's not as _illustrious_ as it sounds," Jowan confided, leaning in across the table.

Bethany looked between the two new faces, finding it a bit eerie how she was ending up mentally comparing everyone she met so far to her brothers. She wondered absently when she was going to stop doing that. Jordan did resemble Sean a bit, at least in mannerisms. _Well, oh well, if I can't beat them . . . _

"I think your hair's too short to braid," she told Jordan with a straight face.

"What? Pfft. Fine. Spurn my offer why don't cha. You can braid Jowan's for all I care. See if I care, _new best friend_." He pointed at his face and mock-scowled. "This is the face of me not caring. Jowan, I have good news, you just got bumped back up to best bud status. Beth's being all mean now."

"Yippee," Jowan said sarcastically, waving his arms in the air in a mock-cheer.

"You'd _better _be excited. What you have is a privilege! I'm in high demand."

Bethany smiled. Jordan could say what she wanted, but he really was like Sean, in the respect of attitude not race, and he had a smile on his face despite. _Maybe… life here… won't be so terrible. Or at the least it won't be boring, not with Jordan around._

* * *

Templars, templars, templars. It was the Tower so it was to be expected they'd be absolutely everywhere but it was more than irritating having to bump into one every single time she turned around. At first it was terrifying due to her innate fear of them but after a while she became desensitized to their presence and only found them mildly irritating. They only stopped being irritating when she remembered that they could rip the magic from her body with their minds; then they became scary once more.

Much to her disgust, however, Bethany was starting to feel pity for them more than anything else. She knew had no right to feel sorry and _shouldn't_ feel sorry for the evil-helmeted stalkers who were responsible for everything that went wrong in mage-life one way or another, but after talking with templars like Cullen and being surrounded by them daily, looking at them the same way she did before the Tower happened to her was becoming impossible. They were people, and they were doing their jobs, and that was all. In fact, most of them hadn't even wanted to be at the Tower. Most of them didn't have a choice in becoming a Templar. At least, according to Cullen, who apparently was given to the Chantry at a young age, too young to know something else or who his parents were – and apparently was accepting of the idea of mage-hunting only because he knew it was inevitable, even if he didn't join it.

She was especially surprised to find a number of mage _sympathizers_ within the templar ranks. They kept their sympathies hidden, yes, and they didn't know that she knew about them, but you could tell them apart by watching them in their day to day. Those few were the ones who went out of their way to hold doors open, to chat with the mages while they were on guard, and who helped Bethany reach the books at the top of the shelves in the library.

Cullen, needless to say, was one of them. Bethany was a bit angry at herself for starting to like the templar, just because he was nice and stopped to talk with her. She was getting steadily more angry with herself for starting to think of the templar as a friend. She went out of her way to pretend not to know who he was when she talked with other people just so she could ingrain it in her own mind that he wasn't a friend, he was an armored templar who just happened to be close to her own age and _happened _to be friendly, and that was all. It didn't help much, but it at least kept her distracted.

Bethany sighed and buried her face in the book in front of her. She heard the faint rhythmic clank of armored footsteps, knowing that the guard was being changed. There were two guards in the library at the moment – one for her, and one for the other mages. She was being guarded because she was under observation (which Bethany had later discovered meant only that she was to be isolated from other mages in all matters except for her studies and meals and was to be kept under strict watch by the templars for an indeterminate length of time while they assessed the threat that her life outside the Tower presented). She hoped that the observation would end soon because she wasn't fond of her cell, nor was the cot in any way comfortable, and she wasn't too fond of the smell either.

She lifted her head briefly and tried to make out the jumbled old Tevinter words before her before realizing briefly that she'd selected the wrong book _again_ and groaned.

Out of the corner of her eye and passed one of the stone arches of the library she spotted the old Senior Enchanter Sweeney, and she silently glared a bit at the old man. He was the one responsible for the organization system of the library. Naturally, Sweeney was the only one the organization made any sense to.

Bethany didn't feel like getting back up and selecting the correct book so she pretended to read the one that was in front of her, all the while letting her mind wander.

They hadn't yet let her contact her family. She'd asked every day about it and continued asking up until the point where she thought Knight-Commander Greagoir's head was going to explode. The old templar had finally referred her to the First Enchanter, once she was out from observation.

Bethany sighed again.

When she was out of observation, Jordan had promised to throw a mini-party. The templars wouldn't be invited. And there would be cake.

It was something to look forward to, at least, and while she was under observation it gave her plenty of time to brainstorm exactly what she was going to say to her family in the first letter.

After several minutes Bethany finally gave up on the book and slammed it shut, startling younger apprentice at the end of the table. She winced and mouthed and apology and shoved the book off to the side, and finally stared up at the cavernous stone ceiling.

She hadn't yet figured out how they cleaned the ceiling. It was a mystery!

She fingered the locket around her neck and smiled a bit dreamily. It was good to have it back.

It turned out that she had indeed lost the precious memento, and spent a week in a panic-induced depression about it until none other than Cullen the templar showed up and meekly handed her the missing necklace. She'd never been more grateful to a templar in her life. Apparently he'd found it a short while ago and didn't know who it had belonged to, that is until he recalled that she was throwing a fit about missing jewelry. She bought that excuse and ate it up, simply grateful to have the one link to her old life back. She'd even considered hugging the templar about it except that would have been extremely awkward, considering the fact that he was a _templar_, who was _technically _forbidden to socialize with mages,and also the armor.

Bethany also hadn't wanted to give any fuel to the fire of Jordan's gossip; he was convinced there was a forbidden love affair going on between her and the young blonde templar. No matter how many times she insisted that he was full of it, it only seemed to encourage the elf, which was as endearing as it was frustrating.

She caught a glimpse of her templar watcher in the corner of her eye. Bethany couldn't see his face but his stance screamed "boredom." At the end of her table a red-headed elf shifted in his seat, drawing her attention with a book that was comically bigger than his head. He looked even younger than Bethany. Old Sweeney was whistling a forgotten tune to himself and conducting an absentee (or invisible) chorus with his pen in the air. The other templar guard's brow furrowed and looked frustrated by the old man's senility, and she smiled a bit to herself, finding a dull and calming comfort in the smooth surface of the locket she held.

_ "A foot in the door, Isn't it, Daddy?"_

_ "Baby steps. Take it one step at a time, Bethany. It takes time to make it all better, but it will be. That I promise you."_

Well, at least it was something to look forward to.

* * *

It was twenty-nine days before the templars deemed Bethany Amell to not be a danger to those around her, and let her out of observation. Twenty-nine days and seven hours after she had been forcibly taken from Lothering away from her family by the templars, Bethany Amell had written and sent the first letter to her family since her capture, and she was ecstatic.

The First Enchanter had been surprisingly - or maybe unsurprisingly - sympathetic to her story, but insisted that Bethany would have to come up with the money to send the letters herself. Luckily, she was a pretty talented herbalist, if by 'pretty talented' one means 'abominable.' _Luckily _the mages weren't the ones who created the potions in the Tower, that was the solemn duty of the Tranquil, so all Bethany could do was offer her expertise in planting, gathering, and harvesting ingredients – basically advanced gardening – within the Tower's arboretum on the fifth floor. Which, _luckily enough_, she happened to be pretty darned good at, and even _luckier_, got paid a few silver to do it by the arboretum's keeper, since it was extracurricular, and she _was _really good at it after all.

What could she say? Hawke mages had a way with green things. Though she _did _wish she wasn't quite so rubbish at herbalism. The Tranquil were the ones who stocked the Tower's supply of potions and healing salves, but the apprentice mages were instructed in the basics of herbalism. The only persona around who was reputedly worse than her at it was Jordan, whom she knew for a fact deliberately made his potions blow up for the fun of it.

This all was, however, not even half as important as being able to finally contact her family. She debated internally for hours what to write and how, if she should send a letter to everyone separately or not, but decided to include everything she could as succinctly as possible in one big letter, for the sake of cost:

_Dear Malcolm, Leandra, Sean, Carver, & Chomper Hawke_

_This letter isn't going to reach you for a few weeks, or even a month they say. So, to your perspective, you're all going to be a month behind me – hello, people from the past! I'm Bethany from the future, and things are far more advanced here now._

_I apologize for that last sentence. Jordan insisted that I include it because he thinks he's some kind of genius. Jordan Surana is one of my fellow apprentices here at the Tower, and I like to count him amongst my new friends. He reminds me of you, Sean. You both think you're terribly clever when you're not. There are several mages here who have befriended me, and I'm grateful. I shudder to think what it would have been like, being completely on my own._

_But, I'm actually doing very well. I've excelled at my studies and my mentors are very impressed with my progress, but not _too _impressed. Don't worry, father. I can sense the wrinkle in your brow that you're developing right now. The Knight-Commander interrogated me when I first arrived here about where I'd learned my skills, and I dutifully told him the truth – that I was an avid reader, and everything I knew I'd studied for myself, from books I'd collected over the years. _

_Of course, now I don't have to hide my skills anymore. In some ways, It's amazing, being amongst other mages. No one here has to be afraid of their abilities. Ironically, everyone else is. Even some mages. I'd never even met another mage, so imagine my shock at discover that there are actually mages here who really _believe _that they are cursed! I can understand wanting to view magic as a curse, of course, but there's apparently an entire _Fraternity _of mages out of some place called Cumberland who believe that the Maker has cursed them with magic, and they should all bound to the Chantry forever and all be Tranquil or something. It's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Sadly, it's no more silly than the ideas of the other Fraternities. Though I don't mind the Isolationists – those are a group of mages who think we should all just leave and go and live on an island away from everyone else for a while, and just be mages by ourselves without the Chantry interfering with us or with us interfering with the Chantry. _

_I think living on an island would be quite nice, don't you, Father? _

_It's quite gloomy here in the Tower. I was going to say that it wasn't and that everything was fine, but Mum, you wouldn't appreciate that. You would've seen right through my words. It's not all bad here, of course – there are the few advantages. Sadly, when it comes down to it, I'm one mage in a group of mages all living together until the watchful eyes of another group of people who fear and sometimes hate us. For the most part, though, the templars are polite – they're not nice, well except for one of them – but they're not bad people. I think most of the templars here don't really know what else to do about us mages, and they don't like it any more than we do. Especially when mages like Anders go running about and rile them all up._

_Oh, Father. I think you'd like Anders. He's escaped from the Circle five times so far, and now he's on his sixth attempt. It happened just a few minutes ago, actually. Sadly, the templars keep catching him, since he seems to have a little bit of difficulty with the "staying escaped" part of "escape," as Jordan blithely put it. Maybe this time, the templars won't catch him. He's a very determined man._

_I've kept the locket safe for you, Mum. They didn't take it away from me. Ser Bryant assured me when he turned me over to Knight-Commander Greagoir that no harm would befall any of you for harboring me. Is that true? Are you safe? How is Lothering? Describe the weather for me, would you? I hope I don't forget what the sky looks like, cooped up in here with all these musty old templars. Oh, Dad, did you know that Circles had arboretums? The closest thing I get to being outside is exploring the Tower's arboretum. It's quite lovely. First Enchanter Irving saw I was rubbish at herbalism but had a knack for plants besides, and let me help with the upkeep of our arboretum. As soon as I can, I'm going to find jasmine seeds and plant some for you here, mother. This Tower could use a little bit of sunshine._

_With all my love,_

_Bethany Amell_

_P.S. Sean, make sure you fill Chomper full of fatty treats and extra goodies while I'm gone. I miss him terribly._

_P.P.S. Carver – stoppit. I feel your scowling from miles away. Quit it, you goober. Smile for me once and a while, please?_

* * *

Three weeks and four days later, Bethany Amell received a reply. Several replies, actually. All at once.

She couldn't tell who was more excited, Jordan, or herself. Of course he insisted on reading over her shoulder, nosy as he was, but she couldn't find it in her to say no to him when he wielded the big green puppy-eyes. Jowan just laughed at her, having grown immune to the puppy-eyes over the years. She sent him a Carver-worthy scowl.

The letters from Carver and Sean were much the same in content, though Sean chose to berate her by asking 'what the hell kind of letter is this' and so on. Bethany knew better than to take it personally, however; when Sean teased you, it only meant he cared.

Mother, she could imagine bending over the parchment in tears – it was enough to get the young Hawke choked up as she read her mother's heartfelt words. She did tear a little when reading her father's words of wisdom. When she was done, Bethany very carefully locked away the letters at the bottom of her assigned compartment at the foot of her bed, surrounded on all sides by the other apprentices.

The following months went by much the same, and for the first time since entering the Tower, Bethany Amell began to feel contentment. She had settled into the routines of study, and excelled at her spellwork – elemental magic and spirit magic were her two favorites, though she had a particular aptness for the former. Every night, she went to the arboretum on the fifth floor of the Tower, to care for the plants there. It was her favorite place in the gloomy Circle; she enjoyed being around the other apprentices in the dormitories, and in the library continuing her studies on history and magic theory, but there in the arboretum amongst all the green things that grew there, she could pretend that she was outside again, and free.

And every two weeks, she sent a letter to her family. Occasionally she would have to skip a week because there would be no one at the Tower to carry the letter to Lothering, but usually there was always someone looking to trade for enchantments, poultices, or other relics. And without fail, two weeks on the nose after each letter, she would receive a reply. After the first letter, Bethany and her family settled into a familiar correspondence, or as familiar as correspondence can be between an estranged mage locked up in the Tower and her family still outside. Her brothers and her parents would rotate who got to write the letter, and speak for everyone, giving updates and answering or asking questions. It, along with the time she spent in the arboretum, were Bethany's sole respite.

* * *

Almost three years later, Malcolm Hawke took ill and died. Bethany didn't hear about his death until a month and a half later, the news having arrived on the day of her Harrowing, as the grief was too near for her mother to speak of it.

The day she read those words and received news of her father's will; on the day of her Harrowing, when her phylactery was taken from the Tower to Denerim, was the very unfortunate day that Bethany Hawke vowed at all costs to be free of the Circle, or die in the attempt.


End file.
